


Only Time Will Tell

by mozarteffect



Series: Of Galactic Proportions [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: (and didn't know he wanted to be), (like very slow I'm sorry), Action/Adventure, Alien Culture, Alliance of Convenience, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Awesome Bulma Briefs, Awkward Crush, Bulma vs the Whole Galaxy, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Memories, Comedy, Coming of Age, Confused Son Goku (Dragon Ball), Denial of Feelings, F/M, Galactic Patroller Bulma AU, Gen, Goku learns about feelings, IN SPACE!, Launch confronts her personality issues, More than one Main Character, Nappa is a single dad to awful Saiyans forever, Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Raditz can be the brother he always wanted to be, Saiyans are awkward with feelings, Slow Build, Sometimes dark but not always, Tarble is already done with his brother's shit, Vegeta (Dragon Ball) vs Feelings, Yamcha is just wise enough to help friends but not himself, oh so much come on DB was a gag manga, on a galactic scale, psychic links are bullshit, so yeah if that bothers you sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-05-10 10:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 224,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozarteffect/pseuds/mozarteffect
Summary: 'How would you like to join the Galactic Patrol?' a strange alien had asked when she was a child.'I'll think about it,' she responded.12 years later Bulma figured, why not? It could be a fun life, so I'll join the Galactic Patrol! Decisions made on a whim of being bored always work out, don't they?Unfortunately no. As Bulma ventures through what seems to be a slow and placid life as a Patroller, she discovers there's so much more to the universe than she ever realized. That as well as coming to terms with the messy growing up business, trying to keep her friends abreast of the alien truths she learns (like her dearest friend BEING an alien), juggling new friends and duties, it's all quite a ridiculous and thrilling adventure for her.Not to mention the part where she remembered Jaco wasn't the ONLY alien she met as a child. What's worse, a vengeful(ly petty) alien prince, the monster that calls himself emperor of the universe, or coming to terms with your sweetheart romance not being what you thought it was?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first work I've done after a couple of years of not writing, I decided to take a chance by writing an AU I wanted to see. By all means don't think "first work in a while" is an excuse, just know going into this the set-up will make things slow before the actual plot begins.

Age 739

Over the past couple of centuries, a force guarded over the Milky Way galaxy, formed by its very own king. Any history book on the topic would tell readers that the Galactic Patrol was powerful, valiant, and just even if their numbers were small. They couldn't be everywhere exactly because of their small numbers, nor could they handle _every_ threat, but still enforced the law to the letter. One such officer was more enthusiastic, prideful, and…klutzy than others. Jaco Teirimentenpibosshi, an alien from a planet further off in the galaxy, took his job very seriously and lacked much of the social grace necessary to not annoy or anger others around him. Despite the reputation, he didn't care about what anybody else thought, he seemed to act on his own whims especially when personally insulted and intent on righting the "wrong." (He had been scolded before for using an extinction bomb--only meant as a _last_ desperate resort--in response to such situations).

Despite his lack of grace, nobody expected much incident from Jaco when he was assigned to the North quadrant of the galaxy to intercept a Saiyan pod set for invading planet Earth. It should have been a simple job (although still very important to accomplish correctly) with little chance of any twists or turns in Jaco's path.

Everybody expected that, though Jaco had a tendency towards talking up how "super elite" his position was, he would dispatch the Saiyan and Earth would be able to maintain the peace it had as its baseline.

What happened was _not_ set to anyone's expectations for the mission.

Jaco was, unfortunately for him, stranded after crashing his ship ("unexpectedly and tragically," he wrote in his report though the truth was he was busy watching videos on his computer and hit a moon). It was then he found an island with a lone man living there. The man, a scientist named Ohmori, took the alien into his home and showed him some things about Earth (in a panic to show that not all things were bad about Earthlings since Jaco suggested using his extinction bomb at first reaction to being offended). They both met a girl named Tights, an aspiring science-fiction novelist, in the ensuing days after "a daring heroic rescue where I looked very cool" as reported by Jaco. After other misadventures with the ragtag gang ("they became my friends, friends of the super elite"), Tights introduced Jaco to her family—the scientific genius Dr. Briefs, his wife Panchy, and their precocious younger daughter Bulma. The child threatened him with a gun she made herself upon hearing that she was going to meet an alien that day ("it turns out Earthlings are ruder than I thought, her gun was REALLY cool though"). Bulma ended the first meeting with fixing Jaco's ship and even taking it for a small go-around with the skill only a seasoned pilot would have. She also contributed the revelation that the Galactic Patrol ships did not, in fact, _need_ the expensive resource sky gold for their fuel and could use more easily obtainable metals like copper.

That wasn't exactly typical behavior for an Earthling as they were generally too primitive to understand space travel and advanced weaponry, let alone one as young as five orbits around their sun. It intrigued Jaco to see such potential in the girl and he asked her, bluntly, "how would you like to join the Galactic Patrol?" She responded that she would think about it, which was good enough for him to take as an affirmative.

He sounded quite proud of himself for the "discovery" in his submitted report, though it was very unorthodox to go and recruit someone from the planet he was sent to defend. Moreover, the Galactic Patrol wasn't exactly an afterschool club; one couldn't just walk in and sign up. Despite that barrier Jaco was adamant and, the higher ups had to admit, very convincing about the potential of the Earthling.

"I have a good feeling about Bulma," he wrote in the closeout of the report. "She has instincts I didn't think possible in these Earthlings. She'll be a great Galactic Patroller."

Twelve years later, age 751, the Galactic Patrol would meet their potential recruit at last, and the future would change in even more unexpected ways.


	2. And What Follows

_Where can I even go from here anyway?_ An idle thought passed through Bulma's mind on her 18 th birthday. It was a chilly morning in August that day, she was (as much as she hated to say it) alone in her room, doing nothing of note except tinkering with some abandoned projects. None of her friends were with her, certainly there was no big to-do about the miracle of her life, the precocious teen-now-technically-adult was left with just her thoughts. Anybody that knew Bulma well would realize that her thoughts, no matter how idle or random, could lead to an awful lot of trouble. Not that she was aware of such a thing herself when she thought: _I said no more adventures after finding out Goku was getting tangled up with the Red Ribbon Army, but…_

The truth of the matter was though Bulma hated discomfort and the idea of dying as most people did, she adored going on adventures and having a _mission_ to accomplish. She found herself getting bored and fidgety when she didn't have something to expend her energy on. While she was a brilliant genius and a sweet, beautiful young lady all rolled into one perfect package, Bulma still enjoyed activities besides inventing. With Goku off traveling around the world to train for the next tournament, Yamcha training with Krillin and Roshi, the rest of her social group being…animals and Launch, she didn't foresee much excitement in the near future.

 _At least Puar and Oolong are person-type animals, I'm not sure how Turtle started talking, and as much as I like Launch it gets really tiring talking to her when she starts switching around. …How did my social circle turn into 38% animals, anyway? Or is that…50% with Goku?_ Bulma frowned, twisting a lock of her hair around while trying to crunch the numbers. _Nahhh…just because he's a country bumpkin with a tail doesn't mean he's an animal, probably .5% at best—no wait—_ "What the hell am I even thinking!?" she burst in frustration, throwing her hands up in the air. "When did I start caring about whether someone's a human, animal, or alien?!"

…Alien? When would Bulma have ever met an alien? Sure, Oolong had said once or twice that he suspected Goku was from outer space, and the girl still couldn't figure out how Goku went to the _moon_ with just his power pole, not to mention the turning into a giant monkey thing. _Despite that, it doesn't make Goku an **alien** , I've never met a—wait a minute._

When she thought harder, a certain face popped into her mind; a very abnormal face with light blue skin around the front area, purple skin covering the rest of the head and neck, bulbous yellow eyes, and a bland yet somehow smug expression. The thought seemed to trigger a memory that became a short figure doing a bizarre pose that was apparently considered "cool and heroic."

 _"How would you like to join the Galactic Patrol?"_ the memory of the figure said, appearing to be looking down at a figure smaller than it.

"Jaco!" Bulma exclaimed, the realization hitting her suddenly in a way not too dissimilar to how her car hit Goku when they first met.

Yes, _her sister_ knew an alien. While she wasn't clear on the details, Tights had somehow gotten tangled up in the affairs of an alien police officer on a mission and befriended it— _no, him, Jaco's a him_ —which greatly benefited her research for writing in the sci-fi genre she favored. As far as Bulma knew they were still friends, and Tights still took advantage of that friendship in the true Briefs fashion for her own ends, though she never told her sister that Jaco had spoken to her personally.

 _"How would you like to join the Galactic Patrol?"_ Jaco had asked, sounding amazed at the demonstration of the gun that she built. The Galactic Patrol, as the young Bulma understood, was the "super elite" force that protected the galaxy—essentially the space police.

 _"I'll think about it,"_ Bulma had replied at the time. Of course, she was only five years old then and had no real inkling of the gravitas of Jaco's proposition, so the little Bulma devoted no further thought to the meeting with the alien or his attempt at recruitment. As a bored teenager that already had cut her teeth on bizarre adventures, however…

 _I wonder if he remembers that?_ "Maybe I could be a Galactic Patroller," she mumbled, tilting her head to the side in consideration. An elite position like that would certainly give her the adventure she craved, and any scientist would jump at the chance to travel in space. Sure, Galactic Patrol implied police work, which meant Bulma might have to engage in physical combat and she abhorred fighting (so she claimed) but if Jaco was willing to take her on perhaps it wouldn't hurt anything to ask. "It sounds like it'd be a fun life."

"What does, honey?" her mother asked, appearing at her workbench with a tray of lemonade. "Are you having your friends over for your special day today?"

Bulma jumped, straightening up in her chair with a gasp. "Mom! Geez, why don't you knock before coming in?!" she huffed, crossing her arms to hide the embarrassment at being surprised. "And they're busy, I was thinking about calling Tights so I can talk to Jaco about an offer he made me to join his stupid galaxy police squad."

All of the explanation ended up coming out at once in a single breath, it almost looked for a moment Panchy didn't catch the entirety as her eyes opened in confusion. "Oh." The moment apparently passed as her expression settled back to its usual serene smiling and she nodded. "Well, honey, be sure you call home once in a while when you're off in space, okay?" She took a glass off the tray and set it down next to Bulma before she breezed out of the room, no doubt to bake cookies or chat up the employees.

Sometimes Bulma wondered what sort of world her mother lived in and how it ended up crossing over with a scientist who took a very hands-off approach to everything but his work. _Tights and I might be the only ones with any actual brains around here,_ she thought with shades of cynicism. "All right, that's enough!" Bulma pushed away from her desk to reach over to the phone, Tights would no doubt be typing away at her computer then and not busy with any official author business. Or at least Bulma hoped not, though Tights was generally more easygoing than Bulma her work was still to be respected and not interrupted. The plan as it formed in her mind was she would call her sister and ask her about getting into contact with Jaco, from there she would talk to him about joining the Galactic Patrol—assuming he remembered the offer in the first place.

"This is Tights," the voice of an older woman said on the other line.

Older, yes, quite a few years since they had even seen one another, but Bulma still recognized the voice of her sister. The last time she had seen her was some time before she started her journey to gather the Dragon Balls, the image of Tights with her cropped blonde hair and official-looking business suit popped up immediately before Bulma answered back with a cheerful, "Hey Sis!"

"Oh, hey, Bulma!" Tights replied, changing her tone to a more casual and light one. Such a manner was more natural for her in the first place; the detached business style of speaking that both Briefs girls had taken on as they got older was an unspoken point of contention since it usually led to talking to gross old men. "How did that journey finding the Dragon Balls go? Dad said something about you getting mixed up with martial artists."

"Geez, that got crazy really quick." She leaned onto her hand, considering how best to tell Tights about her adventures. "But can I tell you about it later? You're still in contact with Jaco, right? I wanted to talk to him about an offer he made me a couple of years ago."

"An offer?" Bulma could hear tapping on the other end, Tights was probably typing on her computer as she spoke. "He couldn't have asked you to join the Patrol, could he?"

As much as Bulma was impressed she figured it out so quickly it wasn't that much of a shock since they were, after all, the daughters of a genius. She explained the circumstances of when Jaco recruited her all those years ago and some of her idea behind contacting him again, it turned out to be quicker to talk about than her adventures with Goku. "Though if he takes me up on taking him up on his offer, I can tell you all about what happened there while we go to space."

Tights laughed, a clicking sound was heard on the other end. "You're going to love it in space, and honestly I doubt Jaco wouldn't remember, if he decided he wanted to recruit someone knowing they remember would be flattering enough to him."

" _Flattering?_ I'm not some thin-skinned kid that needs validation all the time!" a snobby voice cut in on the middle of the line. "What are you calling me for, Tights? I'm on patrol right now!"

"You're probably watching videos on your computer again," she responded flatly. "And anyway, my sister is on the line, too. You asked her about joining the GP a couple of years ago?"

"Your sister?" Jaco sounded as though he was trying to work out a puzzle cube after his hands had been greased. "Joining the—wait, your sister was the little tyke that had that big cool gun, right? Oh yeah, she said she'd think about that, but I kinda already submitted her for joining the day of. My superiors were like 'Jaco this is a kid surely her parents wouldn't'—"

"They probably wouldn't have cared quite honestly," Bulma cut in casually. "You had me joined up this whole time and didn't say anything?"

"Whoa!" There was a clattering noise like Jaco dropped something. "Hey! Tights, what's the big deal?! You didn't tell me there was someone on—oh wait, yes you did."

Bulma raised her eyebrows as she heard Tights sighing in annoyance. She didn't remember a whole lot about Jaco besides his appearance, but she would have never guessed that he was so ditzy. "All right, what's the story about that, Jaco?" she continued, not wanting to get caught up in nonsense.

"Wellllll…yeah, I submitted my report and talked about a new recruit that I had in the wings, they had kind of an issue with you being so young for some reason, but like what does it matter, right? You had the aim of someone fully grown and good instincts."

"I'm a much better shot now," she laughed, nonetheless enjoying how easily the plan was rolling along despite her go-between being a strange purple alien that was a klutz. "And I can make better guns, too—better everything, really, I've got a whole bunch of patents to show you."

"Today's your birthday, so it's not like anyone can say you're underage anymore," Tights added.

"Uhhh, your birthday?" he muttered, shuffling something around in the background. "I hope you didn't expect me to get you a present or whatever, 'cause my paycheck goes towards food, thank you very much."

"Bleh, no I didn't call you for that!" Bulma grumbled. "Presents are nice and all, but I really did want to take you up on your offer!" What sort of present would an alien give, in any case? Probably nothing that a sweet young lady like her would possibly have a use for. For all she knew, Jaco's idea of a gift might have been intergalactic slugs in a jar. "I'm ready to officially join the Galactic Patrol."

Was she truly bored enough to take on the job of a police officer in space? While she did have misgivings about her impulsive plan, Bulma was fully confident she would be able to handle whatever tasks the organization would have. Her confidence in herself outweighed any apprehension about potentially being harmed or killed, as was usual for her with the unfortunate tendency towards arrogance.

"That is _fantastic_ ," Jaco answered, his tone carrying the pleased notes of either a person successfully closing a good deal or a scammer luring in a sucker. "I can swing by to take you up for processing tomorrow, you can meet some of your comrades and get the rigor of the rules and regulations getting hooked into your brain out of the way—"

"—We don't use machines to beam knowledge into our brains on Earth," Tights interrupted. "But that's how it is in the GP's version of tech, Bulma. I asked Jaco if I could use the machine myself. Sadly it's only for Patrollers."

"They beam the rules into your _brain_?" Bulma echoed, trying to take in the implications behind the explanation. "So does that mean I don't have to get sweaty and gross? It's not going to scramble my brain and mess with my memories, is it?"

"Uh, it shouldn't," he said, the pause and sharpness to his words indicated he might have regarded the question as rude. "And as for getting sweaty and gross, you're still going to have to train your body to keep up with your brain, so you'll need to get over that in a hurry, got that?"

 _Of course I can. I can do this. It's no big deal, I know the strongest people on Earth, how strong could these aliens possibly be?_ "Soooo…you say it uploads knowledge into your mind, could I pick more topics?"

"Oh yeah, definitely." Jaco apparently had no issue with answering questions, he probably viewed it as a measure of how important he was in comparison to the very Bulma. He could think that if he wanted as far as she was concerned, just so long as he answered her questions. "We don't have many Patrollers since we're so exclusive, so you'd be the only new trainee we've got."

 _See? It can't be all that bad, the Patrol doesn't even have very many members, how hard could this be._ "I can't wait to check it out. You said it'd be tomorrow, then? That'll give me time to get some stuff together to show off to the head honcho."

"Uh, that's the _King_ of the Galaxy to you," he corrected snottily. Bulma began to find that she was absolutely _weary_ of hearing Jaco talk, especially with the "uh" punctuation at the beginning of every sentence where he told her off. "And you'd better bring your _best_ inventions."

"And I'm coming too!" Tights said, the grin evident in her tone. "Seeing the induction of the GP's first Earthling recruit, and from my own family? It would be the best inspiration to start a new novel."

"Ughhhhhh, Tights seriously? Then I'd have to bring a three-seater!" Jaco complained, making noises like he was pounding his fists childishly on whatever he was sitting at. "You _know_ how my superiors feel about me bringing you around!"

Bulma, mind reeling from the information that there was a king of the whole galaxy, missed hearing the full extent of Jaco and Tights' ensuing argument. There would undoubtedly be more to take in the next day, not to mention what she had to accomplish that day. First she would have to explain where she was going to her friends, then she would gather up her inventions, after that—

"—Hellooooo? Did you fall asleep? I'm hanging up now, I'll meet you at Capsule Corp tomorrow."

She shook herself out of her thoughts, said goodbye to the pair before hanging up the phone, then leaned both of her arms on her desk to think some more. "Man…I really feel like having some strawberry cake now." She was allowed to indulge in something sweet before taking on the galaxy, right? It was her birthday after all.

"I'm glad you think so, honey!" Panchy announced, coming through the open door of her room with a box in her hands. "I made a cake for you to take over to your friends on that cute little island just in case!"

 _Cute little island,_ Bulma resisted the urge to grimace in disgust. Sure the island was perfectly quaint and fine, it was just a certain inhabitant known as the Turtle Hermit who was incurably lewd, and his antics wore on Bulma's nerves. Panchy had _no_ idea.

Then again, considering the shameful way her parents acted, they might have found Roshi _charming_ or something equally gag-worthy. She couldn't stop herself from showing her displeasure in her expression then as she took the box from her mother's hands. _Whatever god is out there, may my parents never meet Roshi,_ she silently prayed before thanking Panchy and sending her off ("yes, I'll take it to my friends to share, yes I'll let you know what they thought, don't _worry_ , Mom!" among other things said). She had no intention of going to Kame House that day originally, but if Jaco was going to cart her off to space the next day she should pay a visit to share the news. Or at least warn Yamcha. Though her romantic status with the wishy-washy warrior wasn't to Bulma's ideals, she still cared about him deeply. _And he cares about me too,_ her thoughts continued insistently. _…Maybe. No, he **does** of course, I'm the best thing that's ever happened to him!_

Whether or not Bulma truly believed any part of her musings was irrelevant, she couldn't waste time dwelling and mulling and other such actions geared towards procrastination and living in one's own head. She set out to secure a car for traveling to Roshi's place, still mentally going over what she would even say to her friends when she arrived (and dodging curious queries from her father about "alien police"). _So yeah, aliens exist and I'm going into space to with the one Tights is friends with! …No, that's too blunt, and do my friends even know Tights?—Oh, crap, they don't! How did I go **this** long without telling them about my sister!? _ Her thoughts nagged and fussed in a similar way all through her trip, before she could even hang onto a single eloquent solution Bulma's vehicle touched down onto the beach of the island.

Sadly, though she was a genius, Bulma found herself unable to think of a plan about telling her friends. Her fingers restlessly tapped on the wheel while she thought of Jaco again, perhaps she should have asked him about a pamphlet or some introductory text to help put her situation into words. There had to be a _So You're Going to Be a Space Police Recruit but Your Friends Don't Know Aliens Exist_ guide somewhere out in the galaxy. For a long moment there was nothing but the sound of the ocean washing against the shore to accompany the woman as she stared hard at the steering wheel her fingers continued to tap on. Her gaze turned to the front door, while she wasn't expecting a welcome wagon at that moment since she didn't call ahead, something about not seeing her friends felt like an eerie moment of calm before something bad happened. No, she considered, that was surely just nerves—after all, the last time Bulma spent a very long time at Kame House it was worrying over Goku's status going up against the Red Ribbon Army. There was no way nothing of that caliber would happen again just from telling something as simple as "so aliens exist, and I'm going to space." Her mind drifted back to Goku when her gaze turned to the clouds in the sky, the shapes almost reflecting his unique (disastrous) hair. _Goku won't know since he's off training…knowing him, he probably won't check in or think about me. But—_

"Hey, Bulma!" a voice abruptly cut into her thoughts, causing her to jump up almost to the ceiling.

"Geez! What is with you guys and just sneaking up on me?!" she snarled, opening the hatch to see that Krillin and Launch, at least, had come out to greet her all in smiles.

Krillin's expression faltered at her angry reaction, he scratched at his cheek awkwardly and shrugged. "Well, gosh Bulma, sorry. I didn't know you were having a moment of spacing out, if you wanna stay out here on the beach all day we can just leave you be."

 _Ugh_ , the little gremlin had a point, Bulma hated that. She grumbled and complained to herself as she scooted out of the car, cake box in hand, to join the two.

"I'm glad you're here, Bulma," Launch said with a smile. "Did you get a haircut recently? It looks cute!"

Without realizing it, she found herself twisting at a lock of her bobbed hair as Launch spoke. It wasn't a self-conscious gesture by any means, she refused to answer to anyone about her hair and what she did with it, but Launch was one of the few to notice and comment on it consistently whether she was in nice form or delinquent form. "Uh, yeah, thanks—as good as I look, though, that's not why I came over." She held out the cake box, forcing herself to return the amicable expressions she was receiving. "Today's my birthday and Mom made enough cake for all of us, so let's share it!"

"All right!" Krillin pumped his fist in the air, the door behind them swung open as more of their friends came out to see what the commotion was. "Happy birthday, Bulma!"

"Eh, what's that?" Roshi asked, adjusting his shades and craning his neck. "Well, well, Darlin', you don't have to share the cake with us, you're enough of a treat as is ehehehe."

Bulma's lip curled in disgust, though before she could say anything in response Turtle answered for her by reaching out and biting the old lecher's leg.

"I was just _kidding_!" Roshi shrieked, shaking his leg wildly to get Turtle off.

He let go but looked utterly miserable despite having successfully told off Roshi. "I'm glad you came to visit anyway, Bulma," he mumbled around what was undoubtedly a rotten taste.

Pleasantries and reasons for why she was at Kame House aside, the group and Bulma moved on to set up a miniature party around the table. Launch made iced tea for everyone while Krillin and Yamcha dutifully brought out plates and silverware to set up. Roshi and Oolong brought out their own cups of what Bulma assumed was sake, though Turtle kept a close eye on them. Puar gingerly sat down on one side of her, naturally knowing Yamcha would be sitting nearby as well once they all settled in. "Bulma, I think this is the first time we got together with everyone to celebrate a birthday like this," he pointed out as she set down the cake in the center of the table. "But Goku isn't here, so I guess it's not everyone…"

"Yeah, it's too bad Goku couldn't be here," she agreed, pausing to rub Puar's head affectionately. "But if he did, I'd have to have at least three cakes just for him."

Puar giggled in agreement, ears flicking around after the head rub. Launch set down tea for everyone, all smiles and speaking constant compliments about how good the cake looked. This was nice, Bulma thought, maybe telling everyone wouldn't be such a difficult thing after all. Unfortunately her moment of calm was interrupted by Launch sneezing and abruptly transforming into her blonde form. A silence fell over the group, everyone frozen in their respective positions of sitting down or reaching out to take a glass of tea.

"Hey…what's all goin' on here?" she asked, rough accent contrasting sharply with the regular Launch's sweet voice as always. "What are we doin', havin' a party?"

Upon realizing she wasn't immediately yelling and shooting off her guns, they all relaxed while Bulma explained that it was her birthday and they were celebrating. Surprisingly, Launch was excited and ready to participate right away. "Whadda we got here, tea? Ah come on, where's my stash—we gotta have more fun than this!"

"Not that I disagree with ya," Oolong cut in. "But—"

Oolong was promptly interrupted by Krillin pushing him out of the way to sit down. "Oh but nothing, Oolong, you were all ready to drink, too," Krillin groaned, rolling his eyes. "So don't even pretend to be all worried and stuff just 'cause I'm still a kid, you just don't wanna share."

(Bulma had to give a hand to him, for a little bald boy with questionable motivation he took no nonsense from the nonsensical lives they all led.)

"Well, when it's _your_ birthday, Krillin, we'll just have to have another party!" Yamcha said, taking his place next to Bulma and putting his arm around her.

She frowned at his statement and the presumptuous contact, still unsure of what their status even was, but decided to leave it alone for that moment. _But I'm going to space, I won't be here for Krillin's birthday,_ an alarmed thought occurred to her. _Or anybody's! What if they all forget about me out there? They seem totally willing to get rid of me most of the time!_

While the panicked thoughts raced through her mind, Bulma realized that her friends were calling for a cheers and raised her glass reluctantly.

"To Bulma!" Roshi began, his voice turned into a hum and drowned out while Bulma's thoughts took over. She didn't even _know_ most of her friends' birthdays when she thought about it, and she would never know because she would be gone—in space, fighting crime, meeting aliens.

_What have I **done**?_

"…Happy birthday, Bulma!"

The voices slipped through her worries, snapping her out of it in time to participate properly in the toast. Everyone around her looked very excited as they clinked their glasses together and Launch lit the candles she had set out onto the cake. A hush of eager anticipation fell over them as she lit the last one, all eyes turned onto Bulma.

"Make a wish, Bulma!" Launch encouraged, gesturing insistently with a cheerful expression.

She wished she could be as carefree as all of her friends seemed. Bulma stared hard at the dancing flames as if somehow she would find the answer there, though she knew it never turned out like that—they lived in the real world, not one of her sister's fantastical novels. _It would be nice if it was as easy as all that._ "I wish…"

The expressions of the group changed to confusion at hearing her speak aloud, some opening their mouths possibly to correct her on the criteria for how wishing on birthday candles went.

"…I knew how to tell you guys what's going to happen next."

Confusion turned to shock, mouths open to correct now hanging open. The looks of horror told Bulma that wasn't the best way to go about it, but it never would have come out if she agonized over it any longer, the puff of breath to blow out the candles felt like a glum punctuation to anything normal in her life. With the candle lights extinguished and the news that _something_ would be happening out, all that was left was her staring at the wisping smoke with her arms crossed.

Yamcha broke the silence, his grip around Bulma tightening in concern and expression radiating bewilderment. "Wh-what do you mean, Bulma?" he asked, turning to face her fully with his free hand gripping her other shoulder. "Are you okay? What happened?"

Oh, he was such a caring man at the end of the day. It broke her heart to see him like that, even if it was ambiguous what their relationship truly was. "Yamcha, I'm—"

"Are ya pregnant?" Oolong interrupted with a dismissive snort, cutting himself a very large slice of cake.

His blunt commentary was received poorly by everyone in the room, outraged cries and Yamcha blushing furiously while stammering being among them. He sputtered something about "we haven't--" and "if that's the case—" much to the amusement of Krillin who watched his flailing with a smirk as he munched on his slice.

"Hey, PIG!" Launch growled, slamming her hands on the table to push herself up. "She was gettin' to that before you stuck your shitty nose in!"

"I'm _not_ pregnant!" Bulma added, mimicking her action and glaring at Oolong.

"—We'd help ya raise a little tyke if ya were, though, just sayin'," Launch said in aside to her.

There wasn't much she could say in reaction besides mumbled thanks, though neither of them looked like they knew how to react to the situation at that moment anyway. "Guys, just— _listen_ to me, would you?"

The silence that followed made for an unnatural moment, every person in the house staring at Bulma with varied expressions of befuddlement and worry. Puar held onto Yamcha's arm as if to make up for how she tore away from him before. Yamcha's expression had the most concern as he stared up at her, searching her face for answers to questions he couldn't articulate. Bulma felt sorry for him, though he had a tendency towards not realizing how his socialness made her feel insecure about his loyalty, she had to admit as well that she gave him a lot of grief. She could be hard to handle, she knew that, why else would someone otherwise as beautiful as her think to use mystical objects to _wish_ for a dedicated boyfriend?

He deserved an explanation, he deserved reason, and he didn't deserve her temper tantrums or pouting. She took a deep breath, it was time to give her friends what they were listening for: "Yamcha…everyone, I never told you that I have a sister, did I?"

Almost in synchronization her friends' eyes widened; Puar released Yamcha's arm to press his paws to his mouth in disbelief, Oolong twirled the straw in his mouth at a quicker pace looking genuinely interested at the revelation. "Well. Is she cute?" Roshi piped up among the attentive audience. Krillin side glanced at his master with a sour expression, Turtle did the same, Bulma only scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"She's my sister, of _course_ she is." Bulma would usually add that Tights was gorgeous, blonde, intelligent, and reasonably fit—perfect for any available man though she seemed to have no interest in dating. But since it was Roshi, saying such things would do nothing more than give Tights a lot of grief. Bulma couldn't conceive doing something so awful to her. "But not as cute as _me_ , got it?" she made sure to establish instead.

It seemed to be mutually agreed without words that questioning Bulma whenever she said something to that extent would only lead to more misery, so the others only shrugged or nodded. She took a deep breath and sat back down in her place to continue what she wanted to say properly. Launch mirrored her movement, resting her elbows on the table and staring thoughtfully at her. It was a surprisingly subdued gesture for the blonde Launch, though she nor anyone else would dwell on it or question her.

"All right, so…it all started with my sister, Tights. After she graduated from university, she started traveling on her own to get some inspiration for her first novel," Bulma began, finally taking a slice of cake herself. As her friends took their own pieces (a third one for Oolong) they settled down to listen as she continued from the very beginning with Tights meeting Jaco and Ohmori. Puar and Turtle's attention appeared to be particularly focused, visibly expressing amazement when she talked about who Jaco was and how she met him. It became easier to talk about it as she went, though Launch changing back once or twice and having to have the story restarted was inconvenient, Oolong making commentary as well became annoying (Krillin at one point pushed his face into his plate to get him to be quiet). She became aware as she continued that Yamcha had his arm around her again, squeezing her shoulder out of either distress or some attempt at reminding her that he was supporting her.

"After I fixed Jaco's ship, I took it for a ride, I guess that in addition to the gun I built impressed him, so he asked me to join the Galactic Patrol." She released tension she didn't realize she was holding as she finished her story, leaning against his shoulder when she did. "I said then I'd think about it, and…well, I thought about it, and I called him today."

  
Concluding such a fantastic and impossible story, she knew her friends would have questions or would expect her to continue speaking. Yet Bulma felt so tired, she didn't want to do anything else but lean on Yamcha and recuperate while they worked it out on their own.

"…So, wait, your sister knows actual aliens," Krillin said with the tone of someone concentrating on opening a particularly cumbersome jar. "Alien _police_ , and one of these alien officers asked you to join their alien police and…you agreed to join them?"

"No wonder Miss Tights' books seem so real, because she knows real aliens," Puar said thoughtfully, looking over at Turtle who nodded in reply. "Turtle showed me some of her books this past tournament," he explained to Bulma, who smiled faintly in response.

 _That's sweet_ , she thought. _They already knew her in some way—_

"What are ya doin' reading trashy sci-fi?" Oolong asked snidely (notably still trying to wipe cake off his face). "Considering our lives and how they are already—"

"My sister does _not_ write trash, you nasty porker!" she exclaimed, lifting her head from Yamcha's shoulder to properly glare at him.

"Miss Tights has fun and engaging prose that makes you feel like you're really there," Turtle interjected, tone notably clipped as though he was personally insulted. "Saying it's trash purely based on our experiences is ignorant."

"—Uh, yeah, that. Thanks Turtle." Her outrage left as quickly as it came at Turtle's calm takedown, there was nothing more she could add then except a note to herself to ask Tights next time she saw her for a special autograph. She didn't know when Turtle's birthday was or if she would even be present for a celebration, but he deserved to have something nice to himself. "Anyway…that's it, I decided to join the Galactic Patrol, and I'm leaving tomorrow for HQ."

Though it sounded just as easy and casual as she said, the tense silence from her friends was anything but that. It was more incredibly uncomfortable, as if Bulma _did_ announce when she was pregnant but rather than it being Yamcha's it was some alien's. _Hey…that wouldn't happen…it's not all that crazy, guys? Don't look at me like that_.

It was Yamcha who first spoke, "Wow Bulma…" His expression said doubt, his eyes worry, his voice nervousness. "That's…" His face split into a hesitant grin, to which Bulma raised her eyebrows. "That's great! I'm proud of you!"

While Bulma usually thrived on praise and her friends joined in with a chorus of congratulations, something sick nested in Bulma's stomach about the choice of words. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, scanning the crowd and pushing herself from Yamcha's embrace. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?" she snapped, shoulders rigid with the flash of anger and tension that came over her.

Most of them paled at her tone, quickly looking away, abandoning Yamcha to the task of defending himself from his supposed-to-be-girlfriend now silently shaking in her rage.

"You're glad I'm leaving, aren't you?! _All_ of you!"

The accusation was unfair, irrational, Bulma knew that intellectually. Despite the intellectual side, the emotional part of her wanted to scream out how hurt it was at being something tossed aside. Life would go on without her, wouldn't it?

No, it damn well _shouldn't_. Bulma would not allow _anyone_ to treat her like a temporary—

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Yamcha's voice barged into her thoughts, smacking them away like he would with his signature technique. "I really _mean_ that I'm proud of you!" he groaned, hands raking through his nigh-uncontrollable hair in exasperation. "That doesn't mean I'm _happy_ about it, I'm worried as hell!"

His outburst was so unexpectedly passionate and _decisive_ she was shocked into silence. For as long as she had known him, Yamcha wasn't prone to outbursts or expressing strong opinions unless it was something obvious like "Pilaf shouldn't get his way" and "someone's in trouble we should help." At that moment, she could see the wild desert bandit she fell in love with back when she was a kid—though he wasn't stealing anything or threatening lives (or being faced with the subject of his phobia), he was _concerned_.

"You're here telling us that you have a _sister_ , first of all," he began, counting off on his fingers. "Okay, I can handle that—but then you tell us _aliens_ are real and one of them recruited you for _space police_ when you were a kid—and, and, you're taking him up on his offer now? So, you're going to some place we _can't_ go and putting yourself in danger, for what? For space police!" A harsh sigh spilled out from him as he pressed his hands to his temples. "There's just…so much that I don't know about you and it's suddenly coming out now?"

 _Oh…_ Was he mad at her? "Yamcha…" Bulma touched his shoulder, the revelation at how _upset_ she had made him gripped her heart coldly. "I didn't think…things like what happened when I was _five_ of all times really mattered, compared to what else was going on around us."

"She's got a point there," Roshi supplied, gesturing with his staff. "You all were after the Dragon Balls at the time when you first met, when have any of you actually had time to sit down and hash out what your past experiences were like? How did _you_ even get a phobia of women being out in the desert your whole life, Yamcha?"

Having said that seemed to spark a wave of quiet contemplation among the group. When everyone stopped and thought about it, none of them knew very much about the other after all. It was Yamcha again who cut through the silence, shaking his head insistently and waving off Roshi. "No, no, Bulma—listen, I'm not _mad_ , okay? I'm not trying to say that you should have told us about your background earlier. Master's right, anyway, _I_ haven't told you anything about myself, Krillin's only just now telling me about the temple he came from, and of course none of us know where Launch came from!"

The two shrugged and smiled at the call out. While she was reassured by how genuine he was being, her intellectual side was calculating what in the world Yamcha was getting at.

Fortunately, in the interest of her mind not totally taking over and making her miss the point as it usually did, he continued: "It's just a lot at once. And I'm worried, but at the same time I'm…I'm really proud, you know?" His face relaxed, turning into more of a sheepish smile. Bulma became aware that his hands had taken hers and were squeezing them gently. "You want to help people, and you're willing to go out into space to do it, I wouldn't have known that about you."

… _Oh._ How wholeheartedly he expressed his admiration sank her own heart straight down to her stomach, where it turned into a heavy stone with "you messed up" scrawled across the surface. Her reasons of being bored and thinking the idea being a Patroller would be a fun life were so petty in comparison to what Yamcha believed her intentions were. _He thinks you want to help people, he thinks you're going off to be a hero._ Bulma was infamous for how shameless she was but looking into his wide and earnest eyes stirred something she could only understand as actual guilt at how selfish her motivations were truly.

"Well," Yamcha sighed, shaking his head and releasing her hands. "That's how I feel about it. I can't stop you."

"We can look at it as training!" Krillin piped up before Bulma could answer (though she had no actual idea of what _to_ say.) "By the time we reunite and go to the tournament again, we'll all have had plenty of training and stories to share, right?"

Bulma looked to him with a thin smile. "Right…that's what Jaco said, I'll be training to take down some bad guys in space."

She couldn't back out or tell the truth about being "bored" after all. She couldn't disappoint Yamcha. _No, it'll be **fine** , it'll be easy—it'll be fun! I can do this, I can be a Galactic Patroller_. " _But_ that doesn't mean I'm going to go around picking fights for no reason!" she added haughtily. "I'm civilized, not a brawler!"

The room filled with laughter at the very-typical Bulma assertation, easing up some of the pressure and anxiety she had roiling around inside her mind. "I'll still train hard, though."

"We'll be cheering you on, Bulma!" nice Launch laughed, clapping her hands together. "Get really strong and take down bad guys!"

"So, you're leavin' tomorrow?" Oolong asked abruptly, having finished off the cake entirely while the conversation had been going on. "Guess we should take a trip back home and have a little seeing off party, eh?"

Bulma tilted her head at him curiously. "What, you guys want to stay the night? My car can fit a couple of people, so if you wanted—"

After all was said and done, there was a small argument over who should go in what car until it was decided that Oolong would be driving Roshi and Krillin while Launch, Yamcha, and Puar rode with Bulma. Turtle would stay behind and watch the house. He bid the group adieu and wished Bulma luck on her trip to outer space, "Please try to come back alive."

 _I hope I come back alive, too_ , thought Bulma with a grimace as she took the passenger seat beside Yamcha. _No, I definitely will._ After all, she had the confidence of the man she loved dearly and all her friends. Nothing that came after would be as horrible as crushing boredom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be taking some liberties with the GP from here on out since we don't have MUCH on how it currently is besides the short stories written before, I'm hoping it'll be accessible enough for people that haven't read about Jaco or even anything from Super in general. This is it for the chapters I had written up already but next chapter we're going to spaaaaace!


	3. Accountability

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay the chapter ended up longer than I wanted it to and the pace got weird, space is *next* chapter orz

 

The sun had started its descent by the time the group arrived at Capsule Corporation, painting streaks of red, pink, and orange across the sky. While the friends chattered pleasantly about various topics, Bulma caught sight of the car carrying the others framed against the sunset. Yamcha noticed as well, putting his foot down on the gas and shifting the car to fly around the other.

"Hey, watch it!" Oolong rolled down the window to yelp at them. "Learn to drive, Wolf-Boy!"

They laughed as the car weaved back around to prepare for landing. Bulma patted his shoulder and commented, "He's probably still mad about losing the race."

"He'll say he wasn't trying to race us," Yamcha responded with a grin.

"Porky can stay mad about it all he wants," Launch chuckled having returned to her blonde form sometime during the trip (and needing the reason they were in a car explained to her again of course.) She leaned forward in between the passenger and driver seat (and over Puar's head who was sat in the middle next to Yamcha) to address Bulma, "Hey, so, I was wonderin'…."

Wondering? Despite the misgivings about what Launch could possibly be wondering, Bulma looked back at her curiously. "What's up?"

"I don't think I've met the old folks, see," she continued, rubbing at the back of her neck. "But what do they think about this? You goin' to space?"

"Oh," Bulma scoffed with a dismissive wave. "I haven't told them yet, but they probably wouldn't care."

Much to her surprise, Launch's face changed to something resembling either concern or the picture-perfect reaction to someone dumping a load of dinosaur waste right on Kame House. "Whaddya mean by that? Like they won't notice you're gone?"

 _Should they?_ Bulma thought but didn't say. "Yeah, they're really laid back, and Tights hasn't lived with us since she was…" She considered for a moment, trying to remember when Tights moved out. "Seventeen. Right, I think she was seventeen when she graduated from university." She then became aware that Launch was looking at her not with amazement over her sister graduating from college so young, but with…sympathy? "Whoa, whoa, h-hey!" she stammered defensively, waving her hands with such insistence all three of her companions had to lean back. "That doesn't mean they don't notice I'm around or gone!"

"'S'pose not," Launch mumbled, casting a glance to the grounds that Yamcha landed them on. "But I'm gettin' an idea o' why you get needy sometimes."

Bulma frowned—though it was more of a pout—she huffed and grumbled that she wasn't _needy_. The response of her friends shrugging and casually exiting the car to head inside showed she was the only one who would assert that defense. _I'm not **needy** ,_ she thought sourly as she jogged to catch up and take Yamcha by the arm. _I just get lonely sometimes! That's not a crime!_ "You don't think I'm needy, do you?" she questioned him. It was a little unfair since she had him by the arm and he couldn't answer with something she wouldn't like, nonetheless Yamcha made a noise and avoided the question entirely by pointing out he could already hear noise from the inside.

Usually she would continue arguing, but— _Oh, no._ He was right, as they entered Capsule Corporation Bulma could hear a commotion up in the kitchen area from the lobby. _What's going on now? How did the guys get here before us?_ She released Yamcha and darted up the stairs, the revelation that her fear of Roshi and her parents meeting was coming to life gave her a burst of speed unusual for her.

"Whoa, Bulma! Wait up!"

Heedless of her friends trying to keep up, she crashed into the kitchen to find Roshi and Oolong happily drinking sake at the table. Her parents sat beside them all smiles, Krillin looked as though he didn't know what to make of everything, and next to him…

"Tights!?"

Her sister had arrived in the hours Bulma was at the island it turned out, and her looks didn't change much in the years since they had seen each other. Unlike Bulma, Tights didn't see much reason to change her hair often from the short cut she preferred and often dressed for business or traveling. Like their parents, Tights tended towards being cheerful and relaxed (even if she didn't space out as much as them), but still observant evident by how her dark eyes swept around the room to look at all the guests there. "So, these are your friends, Bulma? I can't believe it took me so long to meet them." It seemed she was looking for someone specific as she cocked her head at Bulma and asked, "Didn't you mention something about a boy with a tail?"

"He's not here right now," Yamcha supplied, coming up in front of Bulma as if he wanted to get a better look at Tights. "But yeah, he definitely has a tail." Though it was easier for him to talk to women than in the past, he still sounded anxious while he talked, he seemed caught between offering his hand to shake and fleeing back behind Bulma. "I'm, um, Bulma's boyfriend Yamcha, it's nice to meet you, Miss Tights."

 _He is?_ the doubtful thoughts rang.

"Oh, you're her boyfriend right now?" Tights echoed the doubt, leaning forward to examine him with a raised eyebrow and critical eye. "All righty." The blase dismissiveness she displayed was set aside when she waved off any flustered remarks from Bulma by adding: "Yeah, she told me about you. A little bit, she still hasn't told me the full adventures."

" _AHEM._ "

"Oh no," Bulma groaned, now doing a marvelous impression of someone pretending that they were incapable of turning around to observe someone right behind them. Only one person could sound that full of themselves even just by a voice, that was Jaco all right, and he proved it by marching around in front of her. There he was, in all his barely-over-four-feet glory—a teal-faced alien with bulbous yellow eyes, dressed officially in the Galactic Patrol uniform and sporting his bland yet smug expression (impressive for someone with a glass of milk in their hand, apparently he had been raiding the fridge). Though it looked like the purple that covered the rest of his body, broken up by the white chest armor, gloves, and boots was a bodysuit, Bulma understood it to be his skin. It was a gross thing to know (however he himself called everything about human anatomy alien and disgusting) and part of her couldn't wait to see her friends' reactions when they found out.

The alien examined her for a moment—having no irises, pupils, or eyebrows made what air he was going for hard to distinguish, but he looked thoroughly judgmental regardless—then pivoted back around to face the rest of the room.

"You brought _Jaco?_ " she hissed as she scrambled next to Tights. Everyone else marveled at the bizarre real-life alien that came into the room, Jaco seemed pleased at the attention. "Yes yes, save your applause, the _elite_ is here" and so on.

Tights sighed, rolling her eyes. "Well, I had to, he was my ride over," she explained while a mob of questions and commentary swarmed over her alien friend. "Besides, it makes more sense for us to be here now, right? Saves time waiting for us."

Bulma begrudgingly admitted, yes, it _did_ make more sense, but she still exercised the right to radiate displeasure at the whole situation. Jaco was now doing his dorky "hero pose" to the applause of her friends.

"Anyway, Yamcha's your boyfriend—"

"Supposedly."

"Good enough." Tights gestured to Krillin and Oolong. "And these are the little shapeshifters, Dumpling and Pudding?"

"No, that's Krillin—and _the pig_ is Oolong, and _Puar_ is the other shapeshifter," Bulma illustrated this by grabbing Puar away from the throng and pushing him in Tights' face. "See?"

Of course Tights could see with a whole faceful of adorable catlike creature. Jaco sharply turned back to them and snapped, "HEY."

" _What_ Jaco?!" growled Bulma, forgetting that Puar was wiggling around in her hands and squealing. "Are you getting pissy because I'm ignoring you? What are you, a thin-skinned teenager that needs validation?"

His mouth formed an offended O, his posture turned rigid as if he was set to deliver a scathing comeback. Oolong apparently had other plans as he leaned into Jaco's view of Bulma and examined the purple skin carefully. "So, does Bulma have to wear a goofy suit like yours?" He asked. "I can't imagine Miss Fashion tolerating that for very long."

He was right, she had to admit. That garish protruding neckline and shoulders, how it just _stopped_ at the waist with no clear protection below, Bulma couldn't abide by how hideously unfashionable it was. And what was with the radio transmitters on his ears, anyway? Surely she could engineer something less cheesy early-age sci-fi for the Patrol!

Jaco, however, simply stared back at the pig, hands covering his chest as if he felt violated. "Uh, this is my skin. Yes, she will have to wear the armor and a bodysuit; it's safest for stabilizing different temperatures and gravity in space."

"…Wait what. This is your skin?!" Oolong had been reaching out to pinch what he thought was fabric to get a feel of it but instantly backed away when Jaco spoke, looking shocked and disgusted. "Wh—how—why are you--?"

"Don't ask," Tights insisted, pushing between the pair to block them from each other's sight. "Believe me, you don't want to know the answer, I learned that the hard way."

Neither of the Briefs wanted to elaborate on what exactly it was nobody wanted to know. Panchy, timing incredible as always, chose to cut in with holding up the bottle they had at the table. "Any of you darlings want some sake? Krillin, honey, a growing boy needs sake~"

Heedless of how horrifying and embarrassing for Bulma it was that he was being offered sake despite still being a young teen, Krillin beamed back at Mrs. Briefs. "Well, gosh, Mrs. B—if you insist!"

"HE'S UNDERAGE!" Bulma bellowed, her voice instantly filling up the room and pressing everyone into a panicking "hide in your shell and hope she doesn't hit you" posture. "Don't give sake to kids!!"

Krillin's innocent beaming turned into a conniving smirk as he looked to her. "Gee, Bulma…" he drawled with a shrug. "It's not illegal if you're with adults and at home, right?"

 _Ughhhhh_. That little gremlin knew just when to show his true colors and get under her skin. Nobody would offer him sake at Kame House, but here with her overly permissive mother….

What a night, she was already exhausted.

 

* * *

 

The chattering and revelry went on into the late hours of the night, continuing even while Bulma slipped out to shut herself in her room. Enough time had been wasted not packing and deciding what inventions she wanted to present to the King. The quiet solitude of her room provided an indescribable relief to the woman as she slumped over to her desk to grab some capsules for packing.

The moment she picked up her travel pack of capsules, there was a knock at the door.

"It's open," Bulma called over her shoulder, hands distracted with searching out the latest version of the gun she had made (she had to have it, of course, Bulma was never without a gun _somewhere_.)

The gentle, barely audible voice of Launch answered, "I'm coming in." Sure as the sunrise, the kind-faced woman peeked into the opened door, trying to look cheerful but appearing to have some hesitance about her demeanor. That was peculiar for her, Bulma never knew Launch to show anything resembling unease.

"Hey," Bulma greeted, turning to face her friend. "What's up? You look like…"

She trailed off, didn't finish, but it hung there in the atmosphere: something was bothering her. Exactly as Bulma figured, Launch pressed her lips together nervously and scooted herself into the room to shut the door as quickly as she could.

Bulma frowned, already put off by the lack of a verbal response and the aura of anxiety radiating from the other woman. This was very unusual for either side of her. She pressed further, "What's wrong?" She hoped that she looked and sounded open and reassuring as opposed to…well, grouchy and confused. She felt grouchier and confused than in the mood for giving sympathy even if she would have very much liked to. Launch in no way deserved grouchiness.

"Bulma…" Launch began, winding her fingers together and chewing on her lip. The rate at which she was gnawing was already creating a split, yet she still managed to ask, "Does it…bother you?" Before she could be asked for clarity, Launch elaborated: "Does it bother you that I need…reminders? Reminders of what happened when I change, I mean."

All at once, Bulma fully turned herself around and crossed the room over to her friend, inventions forgotten. "What do you mean?" she queried, not wanting to admit right away that it _did_. Launch was so caring and innocent, she never seemed to acknowledge her own condition or what was going on. _Was that an act? Is she hiding something?_

…Had she lost her mind? For all she knew, she was reading too deeply into the circumstances.

Definitely reading too deeply into it. She had to snap herself away from speculating and trapping herself in the intellectual brain mire so she wouldn't miss hearing the follow-up, "It must get bothersome. Right? Doesn't it?" Launch twisted one of her curly locks around her fingers, not in a cute ponderous gesture like Bulma would do to flirt, she was furiously twisting the hair like she wanted to rip it out. Automatically, Bulma reached out and stayed her hand to prevent _actually_ ripping her hair from the roots. Launch's gaze turned down guiltily.

 _Oh…_ Maybe there was something to her musings about what was being thought of after all. Her grip on Launch's hand softened, turning into leading her to a chair by her desk so she could sit down. "Talk to me, Launch," Bulma urged, sitting across from her friend. "Does it bother _you_?" She was the one that had to live with it, after all, what did it matter exactly if it bothered them?

Then again, of course Launch thought about them before herself. She could be so ridiculously selfless to her own detriment. Even without being the spoiled rich girl that she was, Bulma learned right away that being unequivocally selfless got you nothing but taken advantage of (especially by people like her who knew it was a bad idea), it just wasn't practical to be that way. Moreover, when Bulma thought about it, having two personalities most certainly wouldn't _help_ with wanting to keep problems close to your chest and be a happy-go-lucky selfless girl, let alone how it was already a confusing existence not _knowing_ what the other was doing.

"I…"

Was it guilt? Why was it so difficult for her to say?

"I was thinking…you're going into space, whatever form I'm in when you leave will be the one that says goodbye, the other won't remember."

Bulma raised an eyebrow and chuffed out a bemused noise. "You're thinking about that now? But with Goku—"

"Goku is still on Earth, you're going to _space_!" she burst, face contorting into a look of uncharacteristic frustration. Were those tears pricking at the corner of her eyes? The panicked alarm bells began to go off in Bulma's head as Launch straightened up, emphatically balling up her hands into fists. "What if you die out there?!" Her voice raised into a shrill octave, "Part of me wouldn't know for _ages_!"

Whatever clever reassuring statement Bulma would have thought of in any-scenario-but-this-one would have been nice to have at that moment, but it wasn't coming. Nothing would come to her except wordlessly mouthing like a fish out of water. "Launch…" _Why?_

None of the group knew a thing about her when it was considered for a time longer than passive acceptance. Goku and Krillin picked her up as she was fleeing police in an arid, solitary part of the world. When her naivete was taken advantage of by—who else—Roshi, her quirk of sneezing so violently she rattled into a whole other version of herself came to light. This Launch, "Blue Launch," seemed aware of her other side. "Blonde Launch" was too, but rarely commented on the situation.

"Do you…" Bulma ventured forth with her forming theory. "Have any way of telling your other self about what you experience?"

Launch's brow furrowed in confusion, prompting her to continue: "Don't you talk to her? You share a brain and a body, have you ever thought of leaving notes for her?"

It was a wild guess, but it was better than shrugging and passing off her friend's situation as "just another one of those things." She didn't answer for a long moment, caught in what looked like a great struggle in her own fractured mind. "I…I try not to think about her," she admitted after a long moment of pensive silence. "She's so…bad."

Bulma's eyebrows rose higher than they had ever risen that evening. Launch's hesitance and what appeared to be unspoken guilt wasn't what she expected. The older (only by a year, but still older) woman was saccharinely pure-hearted, almost entirely oblivious to her surroundings and Roshi's taking advantage. The other half was not, she was angry and totally defensive against the advances of any man. The two sides shared feelings to some degree from what Bulma observed over time, of course they were aware of each other. Neither seemed to want to acknowledge the other. _But why?_

"She's not all that bad," Bulma pointed out. "She helped with celebrating my birthday today. She cares about us."

More than herself apparently, in so many different ways.

"Launch…if you want to fully remember _all_ of what you experience, you're going to have to care for all of you, too."

That probably wouldn't be the strangest pep talk she would ever give to a friend, but it was up there in the pantheon of "this is how my life is way more bizarre than it should be" for Bulma then. Stranger still was how Launch appeared to want to fight the idea down to her last breath. It was unspoken but laid there under the surface, the reason why she feared acknowledging her other self so much and accepting that it's another aspect of her. "Look…" Bulma turned back to her desk and dug into her drawers to pull out something—a blank notebook, not yet filled with all the blueprints and diagrams bouncing around in her head. "Have you thought about keeping a diary? Just to record how the day went and what was said, to write notes to your other self 'hey this is what happened today don't freak out'?"

The way Launch regarded the notebook made her feel as if she reached out and slapped her with it. Slowly, slowly, with much hesitance, Launch took the book from Bulma's insistent hands. She turned it over in her lightly shaking hands a few times, regarding it thoughtfully. "A diary…just to remind myself, right?" She smiled, though it looked forced as anything else. Bulma found that she ardently wished Launch wouldn't do that to herself, but it looked like there would be more to work on for her than simple reminders. "Okay, I'll try it…thank you, Bulma. I knew you would have an idea, you always do."

"Well, of course I do, I'm a genius," Bulma's mouth said while her brain expressed incredulity at the confidence shown. _Do I? I don't even have an idea of what I'm going to do about **tomorrow**._ "Now I need to pack my genius materials up so I can go to space and impress some aliens. It's tough being an eligible and intelligent young lady sometimes!"

Inherent humor of her prideful crowing aside, Launch did end up offering to help Bulma sort through what she needed and would use for the trip which sped up the process ( _thank god_ ), it turned out advantageous anyway since once she inevitably changed forms Bulma could explain what they talked about to the other Launch. Once all was said and done, she bid Blonde Launch good night and pointed her to a guest room where she could get comfy. Launch clutched the notebook to her chest as if it was her only lifeline, otherwise striding away confidently down the hall.

  _Huh. Does she think about not remembering too…?_

All right. That was enough of being the good selfless friend for one night. Now that she had packed up everything she needed, it was time to go to sleep.

 

Hopefully she wouldn't have any weird dreams about being poked and prodded at by aliens.


	4. Beyond the Horizon

Whether she was ready for it or not, daylight came as signaled by the helper bots coming into her room and waking Bulma up. "It's time for breakfast, Miss Briefs," the monotone pitch rang as it pushed a vacuum around.

"All right, all right," she grumbled, pushing herself out of bed to get into the shower and get ready for the day. She couldn't recall her dreams, though there was the vague sense that one of her _recurring_ nightmares of a giant red-eyed monkey had visited her again. _The moon **is** almost full, I wonder how Goku is doing…?_

Her thoughts wandered to and from the topic of her errant friend as she drifted vaguely downstairs and went through the motions of eating breakfast. It didn't feel like she was going to be leaving for space, the only reminder she had of it was the obnoxious alien chattering away while he guzzled milk like it was his last request before execution.

"The only Earth thing his body can digest is milk," Tights explained to the curious group while Bulma slowly munched on her toast. Her sister continued talking about some of the other things she discovered while traveling in space, her friends listening in rapt attention. Launch—in her nice form—notably was scribbling down something in her new diary. Roshi…was feeling around under the table to see if he could snake his hand up some hapless girl's lap.

Bulma answered this by toppling his chair over with a kick, spilling hot syrup all over the old man. "Serves you right," she fumbled around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.

Soon, sooner than she realized, in the blur of people talking around her, asking questions, playfully ribbing at each other, she found herself outside at last next to Jaco's ship. A single bag slung around her shoulder contained only capsule cases, a notebook, several pencils, a ruler, and a compass. Capsules could carry any non-living thing in the world (except one should _never_ put a capsule inside another capsule), if anything Bulma was overprepared, but something about standing in front of the ship while everyone else gathered behind her made her feel naked.

Despite the apprehensiveness and feeling like the whole situation wasn't actually happening, Bulma scowled at the ship. "This dinky junker is official GP tech?" she scoffed. " _And_ it's supposed to fit three? I was building ships bigger and better than this when I was _ten_."

A long, very dramatic gasp that made her question if Jaco even had lungs followed.

"Oh god, here it comes," Tights groaned, pressing her fingers to her forehead, taking on a defeated "I have experienced so much of this and It's terrible" stance.

"THE GALACTIC PATROL TECH IS _STATE OF THE ART_!!!" he shrieked at an impressive volume for such a little thing, stomping his feet and clenching his fists like he was preparing for a fight with someone who insulted his mother.

With a reaction like that, Bulma might as well have added in a "and your mother is ugly, too." But she wouldn't stoop to that with Jaco yet, instead she countered, "But I can make it _better_." She raised her chin haughtily, now circling around the ship to see if there was an obvious way in.

Jaco opened his mouth to protest, closed it, considered his options. It appeared he wanted desperately to argue but understood at the same time he himself recognized Bulma's potential, the situation wouldn't even be happening if it weren't for him. _How much better? Like, super cool better?_ his expression said what his mouth wouldn't.

Krillin chose to interject as Bulma discovered how to make the steps come down, "She really can." He gestured to her while she scurried up into the ship like an excited kid on Christmas. "She made an advanced surveillance drone out of some parts around the house once, I saw her do it."

Bulma couldn't see Jaco's reaction but heard him mumble something while she examined the console. "Seriously…no wonder I could figure this out when I was a kid, it's so rudimentary."

"Hey! You don't have clearance to pilot!" he scolded, coming up to join her quickly. "And how much longer are you gonna dawdle anyway?! Say goodbye and let's go!"

Though it was hard to say goodbye for her friends for possibly a couple of years, Bulma took herself out of the pilot's seat (which Jaco hurried back into while she was distracted) and started with the easiest one: not going anywhere near Roshi but nodding at him.

"Let me know if you meet any space babes out there, Bulma," Roshi cackled. "Send 'em my way!"

"I'm trying to keep Earth from being destroyed by aliens, you'd only speed up the process like that," she shot back, rolling her eyes.

Oolong shrugged and wished her luck. "Don't pay the old man any mind, Bulma, just do your thing."

That was strangely nice for him to say with no ulterior motives in mind, he was no better than Roshi on some days. She would let it go anyway and just accept that he was being genuine with a handshake in return.  "Don't worry, I'll keep any female aliens I meet far away from Roshi."

"But if you meet aliens, will you take pictures of them for us?" Krillin piped up.

Bulma smiled, kneeling to be at level with Krillin (she couldn't pat him on the head like he was a small child, he wasn't that much younger than her despite his looks). "I'll do my best, all right? Maybe I can get copies of alien mugshots."

"You need clearance for that!" Jaco shouted from the background. "And don't take too much longer saying goodbye!"

"That's one annoying guy," Krillin mumbled so only the people directly around them could hear.

"Hopefully the rest of Bulma's coworkers aren't like that," Puar added in a quiet tone. His worry was forgotten when Bulma reached out and gave him a hug, rubbing his ears affectionately. "You'll come visit, won't you?"

"Yes, when I can, if not I'll see you guys at the tournament, all right?"

"Ooh, you gonna kick some ass along with the rest of the boys?" Blonde Launch asked, looking excited at the possibility of more people to cheer for in the brawl.

Bulma winced, shaking her head. "Come on, Launch, I'd never be on that level even with two years of training."

"Actually, you have to be pretty strong to be in the patrol!" Jaco called again from the ship. "And with the different gravity levels in space, you'd probably outclass everyone in no time!" Tights was the one to intervene that time, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a very small remote, a simple click of a button shut the window to keep him from adding anything further.

"He's right that he is pretty strong despite his looks," she said calmly. "But you don't have to be fighting anybody. The patrol also has a guideline that you can't fight without reason, AKA unless you're apprehending a criminal. Even if Jaco breaks that rule sometimes himself, as I recall."

"No, I don't!" his muffled voice protested from behind the window. Which meant absolutely he did, from her experience with people inclined to fight.

Launch simply smiled at her then, gestured towards Yamcha with a motion of her head. _Come on, Bulma,_ her expression said. _Time to say goodbye._

She swallowed the lump in her throat, turning to face Yamcha—who had been quiet as soon as the farewells started. He still looked so worried, Bulma still felt so much affection towards him. But she shouldn't, right? The moment she went to space, Yamcha would probably go messing around with other girls.

 _He doesn't do that, you know he doesn't,_ her rational side scolded. _He just can't keep up with you sometimes._

And now she was headed off to space. Did that mean it was time to leave behind the things on Earth? _No,_ the emotional side of her interceded. She couldn't possibly give that up.

The awkward moment of the two standing across from each other but not saying anything was broken up by him reaching out and…laying a hand on her shoulder.

 _That's it?_ a thought occurred. The gesture felt…platonic. Like he was saying goodbye to a friend and not someone he loved. Was he? It couldn't be like that, he still considered himself her boyfriend—

"Even if we're not there," his voice crashed into her thoughts, putting them aside into a box labeled "things Bulma will go in denial about." "You're not alone, okay? We'll be with you and you'll be with us, all in our hearts."

Oh god that was the cheesiest thing he could have possibly said, but somehow it brought tears to Bulma's eyes. What part of it made her— _sad? Happy?—_ conflicted further she couldn't guess at, though her mind intellectually was leagues ahead of other people her age it emotionally remained at the same level. Inexperience was her enemy there and it seemed the Galactic Patrol would be her school of hard knocks. "Yamcha…"

For either of them the moment would have been perfect to declare eternal love. But they didn't. ( _It's just because doing this in front of everyone else would be embarrassing._ ) Bulma only took his hand into both of hers and nodded. "I'll work hard, you'd better not slack off just because I'm not around!"

He laughed, "You know we won't!" His usual endearing grin in place as the rest of their friends gathered to repeat their goodbyes.

What a moment, she never felt so much camaraderie with her friends before, even if her feelings about Yamcha were very confused at the same time. No, she decided, she was just nervous and so was he. They were all nervous. Not a big deal. Maybe she could safely leave Earth after all and not worry about being forgotten by her friends or, worse, have her absence be celebrated. Maybe, though she didn't foresee herself changing too drastically, the Patroller she could become would make Yamcha proud.

"—Yeah, so, I'm really happy for you guys," a snobby sniff interrupted. "But we gotta go."

 _Ughhhh_ , Jaco. Leave it to him to ruin a moment, as usual. Bulma broke away from the throng with a grumble, readjusting her bag, and tromping up the stairs.

She paused and turned back despite the increasingly insistent demands to _hurry up_. "I'm going now!" she called. "I'll try not to have too much fun without you guys!"

Right, it would be a fun life after all. Wouldn't it? _Be cool, be confident, it will be all right._ Confidence defined Bulma Briefs, or at least it was the image she used. The odd clenching of her stomach as she settled into the seat next to her sister was the antithesis of the confidence she desired. She disliked it deeply, the sensation of wanting to fidget, cower, or—even worse—say she changed her mind and make a hasty exit.

 _No, I can **do** this,_ Bulma stubbornly thought, fingers reflexively tightening against the chair's armrest in her tension. _Be cool. Be **confident**._

Through her cloud of worry and the sound of Jaco starting up the engine, she felt a gentle brush against her hand. It startled her out of her thoughts like a fish slap to the face from an ornery merchant. Tights' smile greeted her when she looked up. Her sister had reached over and put her hand over Bulma's, striking her with the sentimental feeling of her as a child crawling into Tights' bed for comfort on lonely nights when their parents were off on business trips.

 _"It's okay_ , _"_ Tights would whisper, cradling her close. _"I'm here."_

_I'm here._

So she was, even after their time spent apart, the strange adventures they both experienced, the two were now having their own adventure. It just happened to involve aliens, especially one particularly ridiculous alien that muttered to himself about meteor shower conditions, oblivious to the heartfelt moment going on behind him. Regardless, Bulma could feel herself relax as the warm nostalgia washed over her.

"Well then," Tights began, her lips quirking up into a more Briefs-like expression of curiosity and mischief. "Tell me about that kid with the tail you found."

Out of the corner of her eye, Bulma saw Jaco's shoulders stiffen. Though she didn't pay him any notice, he glanced back at them with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. She, not knowing Jaco as well as Tights, decided it must have been his general demeanor and started right in on the day she met Goku. Tights listened attentively as she told the whole thing, occasionally interrupting with commentary and light scolding over Bulma's more shameless behavior. The comment of "why didn't I bring my notebook" also came up frequently while their pilot seemed to largely tune out everything. He only went back to that unusual reaction of shuddering and staring back at her when Goku was mentioned.

 _What's with that?_ she thought while she concluded with the tournament and the kid with the tail's departure into his next training. _I know Goku sounds weird when I talk about him, but…_ He was a good kid, he couldn't help being a country bumpkin and some manner of were-monkey. "I wonder how he's doing now," Bulma said wistfully, looking out to the expanse of stars and planets passing by. She was in _space_ and she spent the whole time thus far talking about her motley crew of friends and the bizarre adventures they had been on! Would she have time to appreciate it, ask her own questions about what next? Bulma fussed about the dilemma silently, bunching up the hem of her shirt between her fingers.

"Hey, you'll love it," Jaco's voice abruptly brought her back to reality. "You won't be the _only_ type of your own species there, Mosto and Tyber are the only ones of their species on the team too. They're good guys."

What was with people that day and being uncharacteristically _nice_? While Bulma appreciated the officer trying to reassure her, the names and declaration of "only species" sat awkwardly in her mind.

"And…who and what are they?"

"Elite officers like me!" he answered proudly. He paused and corrected himself, "Well, not _like_ me, no one's like me in sheer elite awesome."

She rolled her eyes at the bragging, Tights might have as well but gave her a humorous glance as if to remind that she said ludicrous things just as much as Jaco did. _I am **not** that bad,_ Bulma's returning squint countered. Her smile turned into a knowing smirk, much to Bulma's vexation.

Heedless of what the sisters were doing, Jaco continued talking about his comrades. "Mosto was doing the training for newbies up until recently, Tyber took over after that. Some sage Namekian gobbledygook about how 'he's ready' or something was what Mosto said."

The only response he got was a muttered "uh-huh"—indicative of Bulma clearly feigning interest. No, she felt more irritated than impressed, Jaco didn't satisfactorily answer her question. "But what _are_ they?" she asked brusquely.

" _Wow._ " Jaco whipped around to glare at her. "You don't _ask_ what species someone is! _Rude_." He turned his attention back to the wheel, nonchalantly swerving the ship to avoid a rock and continued, " Besides I was just getting to that. They're a Namekian and a Saiyan—you can't miss Mosto, he's tall and green."

"…And what about Tyber?" Bulma prompted.

"…Not all that interesting," he responded after a long pause. "Pretty similar to human-type Earthlings, actually. Boring."

She should have questioned why it took him so long to answer her, instead she leaned over to Tights and whispered, "Is he cute?"

"I've never seen him," Tights replied with an exasperated smile at her priorities. "I'm not allowed very far into HQ; the Patrol really doesn't like civilians there whatsoever."

"Ah, lame," Bulma groaned, deciding that since Jaco said Tyber looked "boring" it must have meant he looked perfectly ordinary. _Though if he's doing training for the patrollers…he's probably an old man._ She wrinkled her nose in revulsion, remembering she would be stuck with him for her training. Not only would she be engaging in _brawling_ , but she'd be stuck with an old man! _He'd better not be a pervert, knowing organizations like this I'll probably be one of the most good-looking girls there if not the **only** one. _ "…How many Patrollers are there, anyway?"

"We're _very_ exclusive," he replied with a smug tone. "It's difficult to become a Patroller, only a 55%—"

" _How many are there_?"

"Geez, okay, there's 41 of us, 42 including you when you're officially inducted."

Not very many Patrollers. Space was clearly safer than she initially thought, which was interesting since she assumed there would be about ten times more space pirates and other criminal elements initially. He continued to explain that there were ranks in the "GP" and she would slot immediately into the tech rank—just one below from his rank on the hierarchy. Techies were valued and rare, especially ones of the caliber he purported her to be in his write up of her recruitment.

After a trip of back and forth questions, observing the other ships going by, sleeping, and yelling at Jaco to stop driving like a maniac, a space station larger than any Bulma had ever seen came into view. "Welcome to HQ," Jaco announced with the smug joy of showing off something he made himself, though everyone in that ship knew there was no way he would be able to engineer something of that capacity.

It was impressive, she had to admit, her eyes trying to take in all the details at once—oval shaped, the Galactic Patrol insignia emblazoned black against a white metal shell, ships coming in and out of an internal dock at a pace that reminded her of bees at a hive. It was glorious. She could explore all of that just being a Patroller? And there was still so much more after that! Her scientist brain buzzed with the possibilities and excitement even as Jaco swiveled the ship none-too-gracefully down to the underbelly of the station where a docking port waited. It was brightly lit, sterile white as the outer shell, aliens of all shapes and sizes wearing similar uniforms rushing around doing their business.

"This way, this way," he rushed them out of the ship, steering them to an elevator. Some Patrollers looked over at them with interest, Bulma—surprisingly—found there was too much to take in at once to scope out if any of them were cute (even if she was in space and with Yamcha she could still _look_ ). Most of them seemed to recognize Tights and wave at her, gesturing curiously at the other tagalong, Tights just laughed it off as they went into the elevator.

"It's my sister, she's joining up!" she announced with pride, door snapping shut before Bulma could see their reactions. She imagined it must have been shock and awe— _oh my goodness, such a beautiful lady joining up? Golly gee!_ —or passive acceptance.

 _They sure like the color white around here,_ she mentally critiqued. Everything was white in the elevator except for the panel of buttons—black with a, what else, white backlight on the buttons.

_Even the damn lobby was white!_

At least it was tastefully accented with black chairs and exotic-looking plants of all colors. It looked like a perfectly ordinary lobby except for the alien sitting at the reception desk.

"Okay, this is where I have to stay." Tights settled into a seat nearest to the reception, grabbing a magazine with odd characters on it to flip through. "Don't worry about me," she added when she noticed Bulma's alarmed expression. "Jaco's not going to leave me hanging while you're in the machine."

"The machine"—right, the thing that was supposed to be hooked into her brain. With all the subjects she wanted to pore through and absorb anyway, Bulma was sure it would take a couple of hours. The fact that Tights wasn't allowed _inside_ of HQ chafed her still, how dare they say no to a Briefs?

They exchanged their goodbyes and good lucks, Tights gave her a thumbs up and a characteristic wink. Jaco dragged her to the receptionist, stating proudly that he was here with a recruit for processing.

"Okay," the alien, a black and white ( _of course it is_ ) birdlike creature that sounded vaguely female, droned—apparently, she was as unimpressed with Jaco as Bulma and Tights were. "The machine's open, down the hall to your right."

"I know where it is!" he grumbled, continuing to drag Bulma _very rudely_ by her wrist towards a solid wall with a keypad on it. "Try to keep up with me," Jaco intoned with all the arrogance and bossiness she had come to expect from being dependent on him in the current situation. "Don't get distracted by what you see."

 _What's that supposed to mean?_ Her wondering was derailed by the wall sliding open with scarcely a whisper of noise, sterile white halls that looked to be lined with doors greeted the two. Bulma followed him, trying to keep up with his frantic pace, but stopped to turn back and give a final goodbye to Tights—nothing but a blank white wall greeted her. She was alone now with no one except aliens.

"Come on, Briefs, we gotta move!" he ordered, still with that official(ly arrogant) tone.

Bulma scoffed, rolling her eyes as she followed him. Some of the doors were marked with signs in multiple languages, though she gave no time to pay attention to the shut ones, it was the _open_ doors that caught her interest. Signs of movement stopped her at the threshold of an open door—two figures in GP uniforms were conversing about something in another language. At a glance, she could see that the shorter one was wearing a different style of uniform and armor, though the taller one being _green_ drew her eye more convincingly. He had green skin! He was lean, tall, and green! Or at least Bulma assumed it was a him as the body shape otherwise seemed close to a masculine human—really, besides the green skin, lack of hair (head and eyebrows), pointed ears, and antennae he looked similar to Earthlings. She understood immediately, however, that he was _not_ an Earthling. Perhaps it was Mosto? Her excitement at meeting _an actual alien_ throwing her intellectual side into overdrive, she recalled that Jaco had called him a "Namekian" and their associate might have been the smaller man at his side.

_…Huh._

From what Bulma could see as the man firmly had his back turned to her, he _did_ look fairly ordinary for an alien. _What was his name again? Tuber? No—Tyber._ The fact that he was turned away from her didn't _help_ to get an assessment of what he looked like, but from what she could tell he didn't seem old, had a shock of spiky black hair, and might have been a head taller than her compared to Mosto. Though his armor did well to disguise it, he seemed somewhat bulkier than his Namekian companion as well, built for outright power more so than speed.

" _Hey!_ Keep up, Bulma!" Jaco snapped at her, breaking her gaze from the pair and back to him where he stood about a meter away, tapping his foot impatiently.

"All right, all right, sheesh," she grumbled as she went to catch up with him. In a moment, she caught Mosto's eye and he smiled a greeting at her—the expression was warm and welcoming. Tyber remained where he was, something at his waist whipped around too quickly for her to see out of sight. _What was that?_ she wondered, breaking into a jog to fall into pace with her "commander." Whatever it was, it wouldn't be something the 'Saiyan'— _that's what Jaco said he was_ —would reveal right away. In fact, with the way he kept his back to her even if Mosto clearly knew someone was there, he was probably a jerk. "Tyber usually _friendly_ like that?" she snorted sarcastically.

"Yep," he answered without hesitation. Apparently even in the super elite Galactic Patrol, there still existed the concept of gossiping about coworkers. "He's _way_ serious," he added in a grumbling tone. "I mean, not that it's _bad_ , it gets the job done, but he's no fun at staff parties."

She tried to imagine what GP staff parties must have been like with the variety of aliens she had seen already, then snickered at the idea of Tyber in the middle of all of it with a party hat on stubbornly keeping his back to everyone. _It's gonna be a blast training under that guy_ , she then realized, her expression dropping into a scowl. _I'm not even dressed for "training."_ Not that she was dressed _inappropriately_ but Bulma refused to forsake her personal style and wear something more appropriate for space. She _considered_ it but decided the blue jeans and red Capsule Corp jacket was good enough, at least she cut her hair before sticking weird alien machines on her head.

Jaco, ignoring whatever she was thinking or looking like, swooshed open another door and presented to her what looked like a regular pilot's chair with a large imposing machine hovering just over the top of it. "Okay, now go sit down, the helmet goes over your head, you use the tablet to pick out programs, then it's nighty-night," he explained as he went to a large computer covering up a whole wall, presumably to start the machine. "I know Earth is still _way_ behind—"

Not for lack of trying on the Briefs' part, Bulma wanted to protest.

"—But it's simple, it doesn't hurt at all."

As much as the idea interested Bulma initially, the closer the moment for her going into the machine came, the more apprehensive she felt. "What if it scrambles my brain?" she muttered to herself (and Jaco by proxy) drumming her fingers on the chair after she sat down.

"It's not going to scramble your brain," he insisted. "It doesn't mess with your memories or functions, at all." He broke off with a mutter that sounded like _or it shouldn't_. "Be sure to start off with GP basics and rules, all right? Don't jump the gun."

Of course she wouldn't. It didn't even take her more than a second to figure out how access the different subjects; their estimated times for process were displayed as well as a short summary of what the programs were about. "Aliens and You (a comprehensive handbook of alien species current and extinct)", "Languages 101", "A History of the Galaxy", "Taking 'Em Down: 10,000 Methods of Combat", and of course "So You're a Galactic Patroller: Now What?" were estimated to be about half a day, nothing so different from a night's sleep after a long time working.

"Are you sure that's not too much?" Jaco asked with a touch of worry as he tapped at the computer's keyboard.

"Why would it be too much for a genius like me?" Bulma replied proudly, the large machine now bearing down over her and covering her eyes like a virtual reality helmet (or some really overdone goggles).

"Whatever you say, I guess," he grumbled—Bulma couldn't tell with Jaco's odd anatomy even if she was able to see him then, but he probably rolled his eyes. The machine whirred to life, noise surrounding her giving her the horrible sense of claustrophobia for a moment.

 _Well, here goes,_ she thought as the lights dimmed and she was put into a deep sleep.


	5. The Whole Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I make up an alien species wholecloth and the perspective changes hands in the latter half for the first time (but not the last time.)

In the darkness of her unconsciousness, information trickled down into Bulma's mind like raindrops and painted a vivid picture of aliens across their universe.  Strangely, though the universe was vast, there weren't very many sapient species of aliens, so the program with those topics ended sooner than she thought. After the methods of combat program finished, Bulma learned _why_ there were so many extinct or endangered species.

The guidelines for Patrollers were absolutely dominated by the self-proclaimed emperor of the universe, a creature called "Frieza." His reign over the universe had lasted for centuries and led to the subjugation of several planets. Yet…the Patrol wasn't doing anything about him, which confused Bulma immensely—if they were the protectors of space, why weren't they doing anything about Frieza? In fact, the guidelines specifically stated to stay _away_ from Frieza and his soldiers; they laid out his soldiers' uniforms and tools (Bulma was immediately interested in taking apart that tech, especially when she noticed there weren't blueprints) and emphasized again to not engage when sighted. The species that were endangered often ended up in Frieza's army, most likely out of fear or respect for the monstrous alien. Bulma didn't realize she could hate somebody she had never met but seeing Frieza's pompous face looming over the information made her angry every time she saw him.

"Though it is indeed reprehensible what Frieza and his men do," the program droned. "Patrollers are advised to stay far away from them and never engage for their own safety. They are simply too strong. Please avoid detection by their scouters at all costs. While Frieza is cordial about the Patrol's existence, there is no guarantee his men wouldn't act out of line."

It was a lot to take in. That, coupled with some of the alien species Bulma learned about, left her reeling and a little perplexed. Namekians were straightforward enough; they were green, peaceful, some capable of magic and the creation of mysterious objects. Saiyans came with more warnings to stay away and not engage since they were both in Frieza's army and incredibly violent. Despite that, something about the description of Saiyans and the appearance of them in archival footage bothered Bulma immensely. It couldn't be right, she reasoned; she recalled Tyber, the thing that was too fast for her to see must have been his tail, why was _he_ on the Patrol if he was from a violent species that exclusively worked for Frieza? She knew part of the reasoning was to avoid how uncomfortably familiar everything about Saiyans truly was—Goku's smiling face came to mind over the footage of a Saiyan in their "great ape" form destroying the environment around them.

"…So anyway, my recruit's processing is almost done. She should be ready for going into training right after," Jaco's voice came into her consciousness as the closing line of the last program finished.

"Right away?" replied a voice that sounded wise and gentle. "Are you sure of that? She should rest first and allow time for processing."

"That's true," said a sterner voice. "Going into it right away might overwhelm her and shut down her brain."

Bulma liked the gentle voice, not so much the stern voice. To be fair, Jaco and the gentle voice didn't approve of the stern voice either since they immediately corrected him.

"Why do you always have to say creepy things like that, Tyber?" Jaco groaned. "She's not a robot."

 _Tyber, then the other one must be Mosto_. Bulma had the impression even from catching a brief sight of them that the two were thick as thieves (though presumably officers wouldn't thieve anything).

"Ah, excuse me," Tyber apologized. "I've never met an Earthling before. And you know what the program says about them."

"Yeah, yeah, just 'mostly harmless', I know."

Was that really Tyber? _Tyber_ was speaking politely and advocating for her to rest? Bulma wasn't shocked that Mosto was, but him…

_He's a Saiyan, so he's…_

Just like Goku.

_—No, evil. Aren't they evil?_

Tyber continued with what he was saying, "For that matter, I'm not pleased with you bringing a _child_ as a recruit, Jaco."

"Ughhh, she's _not_ a child, Tyber—you weren't that much older than her when _you_ joined, anyway!"

While the two argued back and forth, she heard Mosto comment that it was weird she wasn't opening her eyes yet. "I'll check. Not that either of you can hear me right now or really care much more than your silly fighting." His exasperated tone implied that the arguing must have happened enough to wear on his nerves and be something expected. "—Excuse me? Miss Briefs?"

Oh, right, she should be opening her eyes and getting up—the beeping and the helmet lifting off told that much. Though she knew what to expect with him, having already seen him and knowing full well what Namekians were, a very tall green man standing next to her was still surprising to open her eyes to. "…Yeah, sorry it took me a minute, I just…" she trailed off, eyes sweeping around the room to see what exactly she was up against with seeing the two up close.

Jaco was there and looked the same as ever, staring at her impatiently with a hand on his hip as if she was holding him up from something _very important_ that he was late for now.  Mosto was easily the tallest in the room; though he was wearing a black bodysuit under standard Patrol armor, it did not cover his arms, neck, and head. Her eyes caught sight of the gloves, but not before seeing the pink circular patches of skin that ran along his arms (even the program didn't know what purpose those served, if any). He was smiling, as before when he greeted her, as if he was looking at an old friend or knew vast secrets of the universe. (The latter was possible, Namekians were very wise and even capable of psychic ability.) Even though he was, indeed, a green alien taller than most men she knew with _pointed ears_ and _antennae_ of all things, Bulma didn't feel afraid looking at him. She remembered his kind expression, she saw his concern, he put her at ease and she felt like she could trust him.

Tyber was a different story as she glanced over at him, the moment she did she saw his sharp eyes and all the ease she got from Mosto drained out of her body. Sharp, piercing black eyes that looked _mean_ and made Bulma wish he had continued to keep his back to her. He did not look remotely gentle or friendly like Mosto. Even his uniform looked more serious than his comrades—the same black bodysuit, but with purple armor that extended to a belt and attachments at his waist (likely to hold his gun or supplies), black boots, and black gloves. He could have been handsome if he smiled, she thought, but _clearly_ he wasn't the smiling type. He wasn't _boring_ -looking as Jaco said, he was terrifying! Nonetheless he _did_ look very much like a human as was claimed, until she looked more carefully and found it—the tail. A brown-furred tail like a monkey, twitching at the tip as if he was on edge about something.

 _He's just like Goku. Goku is an alien, he's really an alien._ How was she going to break that news to her friends? To Goku himself? Like that would go over well at a reunion party _—"Hey guys, by the way, Goku's from a race of murderous monkey aliens!"_

"What is it?" Tyber asked—though it sounded more like an offended demand with his brusque tone, his eyes narrowed making them sharper and meaner than previously thought.

 _Did he see me staring at his tail?_ Bulma shook her head and looked away, running a hand through her hair nervously to straighten up. "I'm fine. I just need some time to take all that in."

"Ugh, that's what you get for selecting like, fifty quadrillion programs at once," Jaco scoffed, shifting his posture to crossing his arms and tapping his foot.

"There's nothing wrong with wanting to learn, Jaco," Mosto said, frowning at him. "Though I will suggest that you get some rest, we have quarters down the hall."

Tyber had no comment, apparently since Bulma was awake he was going to go back to pretending he didn't give a flip about anyone's health or understood _manners_.

"So, which one of you fine fellows are going to show me to the resting quarters?" she asked, stretching to get some of the kinks and cramps out of her body. "I hope there's a lot of space in there, I want to get some work going before I meet with the King."

"Not it!" Jaco cried. Tyber's eyes widened a fraction, appearing to be mortified by the choice of words about them.

Mosto looked to them both, shaking his head with amusement. "I will, follow me."

 _Good_. As much fun as it would have been further making Tyber uncomfortable, she was tired of Jaco and tired in general, not on her A-game for messing with people. She was thankful for Mosto's offer. It gave her free reign to think about various things as they headed down the hall again, breaking off into a different path to the resting quarters. The thoughts mostly consisted of grumbling about stupid rude Saiyans and their stupid hair ( _does he try to make it lie flat or something? Come on, knowing Goku that's **impossible**_ ), Jaco's dumb _everything_ , and Goku.

"He tried to cut his hair before rather than trying to force it flat, but since a Saiyan's hair remains the same length from birth to death, it came back," Mosto said out of the blue. He paused, then added: "Balding naturally doesn't count. I suppose after a certain age it no longer grows back as well, he hasn't told me in a particularly specific manner."

Bulma was unsure of whether to address the admittedly interesting note about Saiyan biology ( _again, that explains Goku_ ) or questioning how in the world Mosto knew what she was thinking of in the first place.

"I apologize, I couldn't help but be curious, this is the first time I've met an Earthling."

"How do you _do_ that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Reading minds?"

Mosto shook his head, leading her around a corner. "At this range, I can only read surface thoughts. I don't mean to be rude and peek, but you are quite an open book."

Well, she couldn't argue exactly, Bulma tended to wear her heart on her sleeve much to the detriment of her relationships at times. Still, she didn't like the idea of someone being able to _know_ how she felt and what she was thinking at any moment, she found herself wanting to catch the Namekian off-guard. " <Then what more will I learn about Namekians?>" she switched to his native language. If she was honest with herself, she had been itching for the chance to try out one of the alien languages she learned and having a Namekian right next to her offered that chance.

He stopped mid-walk, craning his head back around to stare at her in amazement, then he chuckled. "<Ah, you're very curious, aren't you?>" He swiveled back to the door next to them, punching in a code to open it (Bulma noted down the pattern for later). "Your accent is a little nasally and the wording is formal, however," He continued, going back to the common language. "How you speak would be more appropriate for our Grand Elder than your average Namekian like myself."

As the door slid open, Bulma blushed in embarrassment. She wasn't used to the feeling of making a fumble of that nature, she was usually—

"Yes, I know, you're very intelligent among Earthlings," Mosto conceded, gesturing for her to enter the room (a single, small room with only a bed and a desk, not exactly the kind of furnishings Bulma was used to) first. "There's no shame in making mistakes your first time trying a new thing, I appreciate the effort overall. Nobody on the Patrol has tried to learn and speak to me in my own language. Except Tyber, but he is more of a listening type than a talking type."

"Are you really going to read my mind every time?" Bulma grumbled, finding a place for herself to sit down and set up her computer. It was odd to her that nobody tried to speak to Mosto in his own language as well, even if it did make more sense to speak the common tongue. Wouldn't he have felt lonely being off-planet? Jaco _did_ say he was the only Namekian on the Galactic Patrol.

"Not if you stop projecting your thoughts so loudly." Mosto took a seat across from her…mid-air sat crisscrossed as though it was a normal thing to him. "I would be happy to help you with refining your Namekian, if it's all right with you."

"Can you teach me to do _that_ , too?" she breathed, astonished by the casual display of _floating off the ground_. Jaco couldn't _float_ , and there Mosto was defying gravity as if he had never heard of it. "I—I mean, yes of _course_ I'd love to have help with getting my Namekian all sorted. I want to know all _kinds_ of things about the galaxy!"

He smiled sincerely, looking almost like a proud father. It was fascinating how his demeanor made her feel less alone in the grand scheme of being in the Patrol, even without her friends and family. "That's a good attitude to have, I hope I'll be able to teach you many things. I think Tyber is looking forward to it as well. Since reaching mentor level, he hasn't had a recruit to train himself."

"Tyber…?" Bulma's face wrinkled up at the thought. "He looks like a drill sergeant, and if Saiyans are as vicious as the program said, wouldn't it be dangerous for him to do that?"

"He's…strict, yes, and sometimes the things he says are…frightening, but Tyber is not of the same level of ferocity as his people," responded Mosto with a face Bulma couldn't quite read. He must have noticed her look of uncertainty as he added: "Please, don't feel bad about thinking that. Lots of people do, and he knows it. Saiyans don't have the best reputation."

"Oh…" She looked down at the capsule case in her lap, realizing then that with how Saiyans were Tyber was probably judged constantly as equally brutal and cold as the rest. It wasn't a foreign idea to her, upon first impression other scientists assumed that Bulma merely coasted by on her father's reputation and had no brains of her own until she had to forcefully prove herself. Bulma liked to think she was open-minded and _tried_ not to jump to irrational conclusions (mostly) and there she did the same thing those elitists perpetuated. "Guess I'm just…I dunno, still taking it in."

He tilted his head inquisitively, leaning slightly forward as if to try and listen better. He wouldn't have to, though, Bulma knew as much that a Namekian's hearing was better than even a dog's. "Something else is bothering you," he stated. "You want to ask me something else."

Mosto said it, not asked, so frankly Bulma was left at a loss for words for several seconds. She distracted herself with pulling her computer out of her capsules and setting it up. "…Frieza destroyed a lot of planets, right. It might not be too much of a stretch to think he destroyed the Saiyans' planet, too." She looked to him, half resigned in already knowing the answer, half realizing how privileged Earth was to have heroes (with heavy quotation marks, she had to admit) like Goku. "Why is he allowed to do that? Why _can't_ you just get stronger and stop him?"

"…There are no happy or easy answers to that," he sighed, sounding forlorn. "He is simply too strong, too ruthless, and even beyond him…there's something worse." 

 _Worse…of course there's worse. It'd probably be like a domino effect, balance of the universe, one can't exist without the other and all that_ , she thought bitterly. _And he didn't confirm or deny that Frieza **did** destroy planet Vegeta, why wouldn't the Saiyans see asteroids coming and destroy them? If they're so strong and fighty, after all_. _What does anybody gain by denying Frieza did it?_ If Mosto heard the suspicious thoughts, he deigned to not comment which Bulma was thankful for, she found she didn't like him looking so sad and Frieza seemed like the kind of topic that made him _very_ sad. "Then…tell me about Saiyans."

"Pardon me?" His brow crinkled in confusion, searching her face for an explanation as to why she was so interested in Saiyans specifically. "…You knew a Saiyan before meeting Tyber," he realized, expression turning quickly to awe. Mosto held out his hand to her palm down before asking, "May I?"

Bulma wasn't sure what he was asking permission for, but she trusted Mosto enough to agree with a nod. _Besides, even if I am very beautiful—_

"Dating other Patrollers isn't appropriate," he laughed, touching his hand to the top of her head. "Besides which, aesthetically pleasing or not, you're an alien."

 _Sheesh._ Maybe it was true that she was an alien to him as much as he was to her, but he didn't have to be so blunt about it. Bulma wasn't sure what he was doing anyway, whatever it was lasted only a moment before he pulled his hand back looking astounded. "What? Did you really read my mind this time?"

"Your thoughts and memories," he explained, shaking his head in disbelief. "Incredible…Jaco was sent to Earth to intercept that Saiyan. But he said the pod never showed up…all along, that Saiyan was there…"

"Goku is a good kid!" Bulma interrupted defensively. She knew what he was getting at, what Goku was sent to Earth _for_ , but—"Sure, he's a total uneducated bumpkin with no manners. But he's a good kid, he's not—"

 _He's not a monster. He wouldn't hurt us!—Imeanexceptthattimeheturnedintoagiantmonkey—I won't let you guys arrest him for something he didn't do!_ All the protests she wanted to say died in her throat as Mosto raised his hand for her to be silent.

"Bulma, please. I understand, I'm not doubting your friendship with…Goku, was it?" He tilted his head in the other direction, appearing to be considering the information. "That wasn't the name he was born with, surely. Those from planet Vegeta had a certain trend to their names."

"I noticed," Bulma said flatly, remembering the section about them as she resumed typing. She needed something to focus on as she was talking and thinking, the text crawling across the screen showing her notes would suffice. _So many vegetables…Goku may sound weird, but at least it sounds like a name._ "How many Saiyans are there left?"

Why she was asking she wasn't entirely clear on, maybe out of the assuredly vain hope she could find Goku's family. But what good would it bring? As it stood, she wasn't sure how to break it to her friend that he was from a marauding alien race. They never told him that he was responsible for the death of his grandfather, after all. Saiyans didn't abide by the concept of a traditional family from what she understood anyway and regarded sentimentality as a personality defect, Goku's parents were probably _awful_ people if they were still alive.

"The number of Saiyans…we can't be sure. The number we are aware of is four—five including your friend Goku. However, Saiyans traveled all over the galaxy, there could be more out there," he answered with a thoughtful expression. "Naturally we don't count half-Saiyans in our data, Tyber maintains the directory of Saiyans himself and he is quite adamant about his children not having tabs kept on them."

"Well, that makes sense, he's probably raising them so they're not c—" Bulma's typing stopped, she to him slack-jawed. "Tyber has _kids?_ He looks barely older than me!" At the most he looked like he was in his mid-twenties, absolutely could not be any older than the eighteen-year-old. _What kind of crazy aging do Saiyans have?!_

Even though he was likely bombarded with Bulma's incredulous thoughts, he laughed good-naturedly. "He does, I know he looks around your age, but that is just Saiyan biology. They physically mature slowly, keep their youth to battle as long as they're able. He's married, too. Tyber's wife runs a smithing shop on the planet where they live."

"Wow…" The harsh-looking Saiyan who spoke rarely and avoided eye contact from her (except to glower of course) had a _family_ , he had a _life_ outside of his job. He probably spent holidays with his children, romantic anniversaries with his wife, he probably _smiled_ occasionally! She simply couldn't imagine it, let alone what a woman he would choose to marry might look or act like. What kind of people would Saiyans choose to _marry_ outside of their own species?

"Zurui is strong," said Mosto, amused. "Tyber smiles most often when she's around. He's…a bit of an unusual Saiyan in that he's very sentimental."

"Wow." _How romantic_. Bulma could only dream of having a relationship like that—no of course, that was what she had with Yamcha. 

"Okay…five Saiyans," she started, intent on getting more information. "Tyber, Goku…?"

Mosto's expression darkened, sending a chill through Bulma as if a breeze went by. "If you meet the other three, you are in danger," he said gravely. "You must not—must _never_ engage these Saiyans."

Yikes, that was a turnaround. The icy fear she felt coursed throughout her body, bringing a bitter illness, if that was something enough to scare Mosto… "I'm guessing they're Frieza's men." She tried to ignore the slight jitter her hands had taken on. It wasn't a big deal, it was only murderous aliens that Goku wouldn't be able to protect her from.

_That Goku came from._

"They are. And we will speak no more of them, nor will you _think_ of them."

Bulma disliked the stiff, formal tone he took; the Saiyans were enough to disturb someone as peaceful and kind as Mosto…then Goku should never meet them. _But maybe…_ a small voice piped up in the back of her head. _Maybe they can be talked to? Reasoned with? Surely if you told them your theory about Frieza—?_

"Let's talk about something else," he cut in, leaving Bulma with more doubt than before about what to think.

On the other hand, she _was_ grateful that he wasn't letting the little voice in the back of her head keep talking. Nothing good could come from trying to bargain with the Saiyans, not even with her good looks and charms. Though knowing she would be working as a Galactic Patroller from then on, no amount of charm would get past the uniform.

"Wait, hang on—"

He groaned, "You absolutely _cannot_ reason—"

"If you guys generally let Frieza's army do what they want, how come you were trying to intercept Goku's pod?"

Mosto, in the middle of scolding her for schemes that were only partly formed, blinked at her—mouth half-open. "Ah. We're strong enough to handle Saiyan _infants_ , at the very least." His gaze turned away from her and he mumbled with a guilty tone, "Besides…we…" He winced. "We _asked_ Frieza, he said the pod wasn't authorized by him 'so feel free to eliminate that monkey.'"

"Some peacemakers of justice!" Bulma sneered, fingers tapping at the keys going down more forcefully than before. "You _ask_ the megalomaniac permission to eliminate threats!"

"I'm not proud of it," he clipped defensively. "None of us are. Don't talk about things you don't understand."

Usually such a statement would be followed with a derisive reference to Bulma's age, gender, or presumed intelligence. It didn't come. Even when angered Mosto wouldn't stoop to such a level, she found, and that alone led her to respect him far more than any other person she would argue with. Rather than shoot back that she understood well enough they were _cowards_ , she stayed silent and turned the computer screen to him to show what she had been working on.

"I'm redesigning the uniform—or at least the armor," Bulma explained, pointing to the picture she had created from the sketches she did on the trip over. The changes were simple enough—it only reduced the protrusion of the shoulders and neckline, lowered the neckline slightly (didn't want to feel strangled on the job after all), and added an extension around the waist that acted similar to a skirt. (Yes, she knew having a skirt extension on her armor would serve little purpose, but it made her feel better about the image.) Naturally there would be a belt to hold things since armor very well couldn't have _pockets_ as nice as that would be. It wasn't anything too dramatic, nothing objectionable she thought—it wasn't as though the reduced neckline exposed anything ( _oooh, how scandalous! Someone has a **neck**! _ she thought sarcastically). "I didn't touch the bodysuit since I'm pretty sure you've all got that down, it's just…the program said there were color ranks, but they all look black to me. Tyber's armor is the closest I've seen to color except for Jaco—well—Jaco's _skin_ , anyway."

Mosto looked taken aback for a moment, then shook his head with a disbelieving grin on his face. "Oh, of course. The uniforms go by color ranking, but perhaps…not on a spectrum you can see? Tyber had difficulty with that as well and made changes to his own uniform."

More insight into Saiyan biology, their perception of spectrums of light was like humans. Then again, that made sense, even if they were more like monkeys than humans it was the same across the board. But—what he said, different spectrums of light? Was he implying the other aliens around them could perceive ultra violet light? Perhaps even colors humans didn't realize _existed?_   "You guys see all that? Seriously?"

"Err…more accurately, it's the Oruians," he clarified. "They design and make our uniforms; their eyes perceive many things."

She recognized the name—Oruians from planet Orui. Human-sized bipedal bird aliens, like crows if she had to compare them to an Earth creature. ( _Or bird-Namekians, I guess._ ) They were magic users that could "perceive and walk many planes" from what the program said, they acted as tailors for the GP and—unbelievably—Frieza's army. They kept to themselves, didn't travel much, didn't engage in combat, and pursued intellectual works. They sounded like her kind of people, all told, except for being reclusive and practicing _magic_. Bulma wanted explanation on the "many things" they could see, the "planes" they walked, Mosto assuredly knew she did. He leaned forward to look at her blueprints instead, eyes going from the uniform tweaks to gun modifications. "With all of this, I imagine Jaco submitted you to the tech rank…blue level, by your eyes."

"Yeah, he mentioned the tech rank—I can work with blue, as long as it doesn't match too closely to my hair."

"Yes, I noticed." Noticed what he didn't elaborate on, though he did touch back down to the floor and straighten himself up into a standing posture. "Are you feeling better about what you've learned now?"

Bulma mulled it over for a moment, tapping away at keys to put more layman's terms in her notes. "Is that why you stuck around? To help me, like, come to terms with the whole thing?" Not that she wasn't grateful, certainly, if left on her own she would have just worried over it and jumped to her own conclusions. Worse, she probably would have thought to go off on some fool's errand and get herself killed.

Mosto nodded, opening the door and holding it for her. "Partly, you did seem genuinely troubled by what you learned. And I knew for a fact that Tyber wouldn't want to be alone with a woman in the resting quarters, he seemed nervous when Jaco passed the duty off."

"Well, he has a wife, so that makes sense," she decided, shutting off her computer to put it away. "I usually make men nervous." In that when they got past the pretty face and gorgeous body, _lots_ of boys she had pursued (or vice versa) realized just how intense she truly was and _ran_. Yamcha was the only one that ever stuck around, he was too nice and already invested in her as a friend.

"You make them nervous because you're strong-willed," he pointed out as they fell into a moderate pace to their next destination. "As for Tyber, he quite clearly sees you as a child, but nonetheless is old-fashioned." He paused. "And yes, I know you're wondering how old he is next. You're guessing somewhere in the range of 40 to 50 orbits of your sun, but neither is correct, he is merely thirty-one."

"...Oh, come on!" Bulma snapped, throwing up her hands, valiantly resisting the urge to reach out and smack Mosto's shoulder. "You built up so much of that only to say he's barely in his thirties?! He's not that much older than my sister!"

"Easy now," his tone was reassuring but he still looked pleased with pulling one over on her. However, his jovial attitude quickly faltered as he turned back. "Bulma. This won't be easy," Mosto began in an uncharacteristically (for the current impression she had) severe tone. "You will be put through rigorous training, you will be in dangerous situations potentially. You've been made spoiled and soft with your life on Earth, and I _know_ your true reason for joining. There's no room for that here. Tyber will be unrelenting and will tell you to go home frequently. How he acts will be cruel and seemingly unreasonable, yes, but only because he wants you to live. It's in his nature to desire the _safety_ of others rather than death, no matter how he presents himself."

Bulma shivered for the second time that day, it bothered her how easily Mosto could see her real nature. Her reasons of being bored and wanting excitement, her being spoiled and complaining when inconvenienced, he could see all of that. "But hang on—" she argued, forcing a know-it-all smirk. "I'm _tech_ division, why would techies go out on missions that require fighting or arresting?"

"I can see clear as day that you would _not_ want to content yourself with sitting quietly at HQ," he countered. "You thrive on adventure, exploration, questioning things and getting answers. You wouldn't stay still no matter what your rank. Most of all, you despise being told what to do and having your independence stifled. Let us at least make sure you can _take care_ of yourself should any of us not be accompanying you."

 _Ugh_ , he could see _that_ too!? "I can do it," she shot back defiantly. _—_ _No, I **can't** , this was a mistake—_her mind cut in, quickly turning panicked. _No, **I can do this**.—I'm gonna die!_   "No…problem," Bulma finished despite her thoughts screaming and creating all sorts of frightening scenarios. "But what will you do?"

Mosto sighed, giving her a concerned glance but not changing his pace forward. She felt like she was letting him down with her conflicted thoughts, twice in a lifetime of actually feeling _bad_ about her own flaws was way more than she would have ever expected or wanted.

"Whatever you want me to teach you, I will," he said, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

 _Whatever I want, huh?_ The image of Mosto floating came to mind—that could be useful, especially if those rocket boots failed frequently (until Bulma could fix them up to _work_ properly, of course.) "You can fly."

"Yes, I can." It was such a "duh" statement and yet he didn't sound condescending about it, Mosto must have had the patience of a saint. "The amount of ki you have now should be sufficient to start, but you realize I would have to teach you ki building exercises and control."

Bulma understood everything except the word "ki," Mosto could see that, she didn't want to ask another stupid question but—"Um…what's ki?"

He demonstrated by holding out his hand where a point of light shone and formed into a glowing ball. "Your energy, every person has it in some measure, but few can manifest it without training."

The appearance of the ball startled her, but only with the abruptness that it happened. Bulma leaned close to the ki ball and tried to inspect it from as many angles as she could; it looked like light, but the shifting mass…somehow _felt_ that there was weight behind it. Was this what formed Master Roshi's signature Kamehameha Wave? He never mentioned ki as far as she could recall. "Whoa…but, wait a second." _Jaco_ couldn't fly, Jaco couldn't form energy balls. "If everyone has ki, then why does everyone on the Patrol use guns? Why would they need me to make better guns if they could just use this ki stuff?"

"Not everyone deigns to engage in ki training. Myself and Tyber, in addition to a handful of others, already had mastering ki control as part of our respective cultures."

"I see…and so not everyone can fly, which is why Jaco had those crappy rocket boots."

"Yes, unfortunately their capacity is limited."

"I can fix that." 

"I know." He offered no smile or stroking of ego, just continued: "Jaco has been talking about you for years."

"He has?" Bulma said skeptically. "He hasn't seen me since I was a little kid. Huh, I guess I left quite an impression." She felt a little of her characteristic vanity come back as she crossed her arms and nodded. _Yep, they won't know what hit them with **me** on the team now!_ "…Hey, Mosto?"

Mosto inclined his head somewhat, turned his eyes to her. _Yes? I'm listening,_ said the gesture.

"What about you?" She questioned, waving at the alien. "I've heard about Tyber, Jaco, Saiyans—but I don't know anything about you. What was life like on Namek? What brought you to the Patrol?"

He chuckled in response, shaking his head. "There's nothing interesting there," he insisted with no indication that he was being self-deprecating or joking around. "Besides, we'll have time to talk about it during training, won't we? Now, straighten up, we're going to see the King."

Bulma jolted, startled that though it seemed her time with Mosto had been so _long_ it felt too short at the same time, now she would be crossing the threshold to meeting the Galaxy King. _Is he just gonna leave me to meet the King by myself? What's the King like, anyway?_

The King of the Galaxy…from what the program told her, he was an "Octo" (not to be mistaken for a Martian, it made sure to emphasize) and had been alive for centuries. He was a good-hearted and just ruler, wishing for the benefit of all planets and the enrichment of the universe. Martians and Octos were touched upon briefly in the alien handbook program, but no pictures of him or any others appeared to be on file. She wondered what they looked like—something totally inhuman like Jaco? Maybe human-looking like Tyber and Mosto (besides the latter being green). 

 _Maybe he's totally hot_ , she thought with a dreamy sigh, image of a regal man all muscle and devilish good looks conjuring up in her head.

A noise made by Mosto shook her out of the fantasy, the look he gave Bulma reminded her he could see her thoughts as clear as watching television and he disapproved of what he was seeing.

"D…don't look at me like that," she blustered, flushing with shame and trying to look anywhere besides at him. "I may be a lady, but I have things I like, too!"

He didn't answer, instead pointedly punched something in on a keyboard at a wall he stopped at. "Your Majesty, Bulma Briefs is here," he spoke into a speaker. A message to come in buzzed back, the wall-which-was-actually-a-door _wooshed_ open. In a sweeping and thoroughly ironic gesture, Mosto indicated what looked like an overgrown jellyfish given a brain. "His Majesty, the King of the Galaxy," he announced, communicating to Bulma she had _better_ show some respect after the lewd thoughts she entertained.

"I-it's an honor, Your Majesty," Bulma stammered, bowing awkwardly towards the creature (but keeping her eyes squarely on him as he did, she submitted to no one and had no reason to trust him yet).

The King was about as tall as her give or take a good couple of inches, his whole body was an opaque lime green color— _so at least I'm not getting acquainted with his **organs**_ —she couldn't decide if his form was more like a jelly or an octopus. The oblong bell-shape of his head said jelly, the articulation and clear indication of muscle in the appendages said octopus, the golden crown (bearing the GP symbol) said octojelly royalty. His mouth said, "Oh come now, the honor is all mine, Dr. Briefs!" in a genial manner.

"Please, Your Majesty," she responded, flashing the most charming smile she was able to muster. "Dr. Briefs is my father, call me Bulma."

He waggled a tentacle and chuckled, "That would be _Officer_ Bulma from this day forward." He was as regal and mannerly as could be expected from a king, though she got the impression that he was very much sincere about it. "Jaco told me quite often that you're more than worthy to be counted among our ranks. It was you who contributed to our resolution of the fuel shortage, from what I remember. I'm quite confident you've only improved over the years!"

 _Improved?_ She _perfected_ herself! Very well, then, it seemed it was time for her to be left alone by Mosto while she spoke with the King one on one— _right, right, go ahead and ditch me, "master."_

However, Mosto stayed by her side, giving off encouraging vibes.

 _Huh_. He must have picked up on her dislike of being left alone. She appreciated it, overall, having reassurance that she wouldn't be alone in the selling herself song and dance with the usual "my gosh that's amazing!" simpering from a strange man. Though she had no reason to suspect the King would act the same as old Earth men do, she still warily gave him a wide berth as she took out her capsules.

"First," she began, clicking the capsule containing her inventions. "My father's legacy, capsule technology."

The King let out an impressed "ohhh" as the capsule popped open to reveal a storage case for her gun and the surveillance planes she made. Confidence blooming at the reaction, she continued by explaining she could capsulize _anything_ that wasn't alive into many capsules. "I can even have all the current GP tech capsulized by tomorrow!"

 _Don't get ahead of yourself_ , Mosto shot at her via telepathy. _You've still got training in between!_

She waved him off, it would be fine after all, she was a genius and could handle anything. "Now then, about that gun I made a couple of years ago…the current model has three stages: stun, kill, and obliterate."

The King put his two front appendages together in an imitation of someone clapping their hands, eyes bright with glee. "Oh, I _like_ that."

And Bulma found that she liked the King. He would probably end up as her favorite person to commission for with his enthusiasm, even if technically he was her boss as well.

 _See? It'll be fine, Mosto. I'm doing great_.

He worried too much. What could have been more nerve-wracking than the information dump and invention exchange? She became so absorbed in the conversation with the King that she didn't even notice Mosto slip out of the room and down the hall.

 

* * *

 

_Fine indeed. Tyber—where are you?_

Mosto marched down the hall, trying his damnedest to not be alarmed but still feeling very much alarmed by the workload Bulma was already putting on herself. The youth, the arrogant youth, they were all the same! To say he was panicky would be an understatement—he felt abject _terror_ at what Jaco ( _the foolish, klutzy **dolt**_ ) had lured a hapless teenager into.

Bulma was the picture-perfect worker from his impression: ambitious, brilliant, passionate—but she was still a child. A child born into privilege with permissive, semi-absent parents and a sister bearing a spirit of adventure that led her to the stars far from home. Bulma was the same—as he pointed out to her—she _itched_ for adventure, her spirit burned brighter than any person he had encountered. With training and discipline, she would be a formidable Patroller. However, where she had wit and passion, there was also _insolence_. Her very being spelled insolence over all five-foot-three of her. Even with warnings and firm orders of _no_ , she would take it as a challenge and stomp all over it cackling. Mosto would cross _that_ bridge when he came to it (and hope Bulma wasn't setting explosives on it simultaneously) for the moment his chief concern was preserving her health.

 _Somebody_ had to, apparently, she certainly didn't. He heard it in her mind, constantly buzzing with ideas, multitasking, working herself to exhaustion when she became absorbed in a project. It was madness, it was frightening, _nobody_ could do that on a constant pace. Or at least not forever, and with the training she would be put through in order to equip her with the means to confront the very universe she wished to explore, he feared very much for her.

Furthermore, he frowned gently as he thought of his own former student—a misfit runaway Saiyan that dramatically realized one day _"hang on, I despise destruction."_   Tyber was very much not the acerbic, impassive superior that he first gave the impression of. Saiyans were not equipped to deal with interpersonal relationships on a level beyond "blow it up, or punch it, then possibly eat it once it's dead." He simply didn't _know_ how to appear welcoming to strangers, perhaps dreaded the idea itself in some way since the average person did still carry prejudice towards Saiyans. Why open yourself up to someone who might in the next breath accuse you of being a murderous monster, right?

The thing about that was, Bulma quite clearly discomfited Tyber. She paid no mind to the reputation of Saiyans despite being aware of it—despite having firsthand experience of a Saiyan child, apparently. She spoke without trepidation, almost scoffed at it with a roll of her eyes, _teased_ him of all things and enjoyed it. Not to say _he_ or Tyber's family had no such dynamic with him, but with how boldly Bulma stepped up to the risk and seemed to relish in it…wasn't natural. She was truly ignorant. An anxious, uncomfortable, already very socially awkward Saiyan was about as bad as dealing with an angered one. An overly bold and bossy woman that responded to commands with a cheerful, "Go die in a ditch!"—he shuddered to think of that mix. At best, the most likely scenario, Tyber would remain professionally distant. At worst, at most Saiyan, he would grow frustrated and lash out should she needle too much.

Then again, Tyber viewed Bulma as a child; he wouldn't openly tell anyone such things, but he _did_ have a soft spot for children.

Nonetheless, that was all conjecture, wasn't it? Mosto knew he needed to do the factually constructive thing and speak directly about what to do with the young lady.

 _Tyber!_ He nagged again through telepathy. Tyber was hiding his ki, suppressing it down to zero as usual. Mosto _hated_ it when he did that around the base.

After what sounded like a harsh sigh, the response came: _I'm in the gravity chamber, can't it wait?_

 _No, for pity's sake!_ Ugh, Saiyans and their constant need to train!

 _What are you worried about now?_ _The girl?_ Unseen by Mosto, he rolled his eyes.

 _I can sense you doing that!_  he snapped back. _And yes, of course—can't you take it easy on her first session of training? She's already setting herself up to do so much work for the King and—_

Tyber cut in, coolly: _If she can't handle it, she can leave._ There he went again pretending to be detached. _I'm not her father, nor are you._

 _I might as well be considering what I've seen of her father._ Not that he as an asexual aromantic creature had much of an experience of what constituted as a proper _father_ besides what he observed in Tyber's family. Their Grand Elder may have produced most of the current Namek population, but that didn't make him their father. _—What are you even doing in the gravity chamber, anyway?_

_I'm recalibrating it for the Earthling._

He paled, stopping at the door to the chamber. "You're not seriously going to have her do gravity training so soon!" he cried, words muffled by the thick material.

With a screech that said something needed to be oiled or maintained, Tyber opened the door, scowl in place as usual but uniform changed out for lighter clothes intended for training. "Honestly, I'm not a _monster_ ," he sighed, looking offended. "I was going to start with weighted training clothes first." He paused and added, "I'll need your help with that."

Mosto only nodded in reply, it was a reasonable request and conjuring up weighted clothes would be no issue. That didn't mean there _wasn't_ an issue as he soon commented, "…She might ask you about your people."

"The Saiyans," Tyber corrected tersely. He had his _people_ , the Saiyans he was descended from and _his_ people, the family he had formed on a small outpost planet with no name. It was a grave, personal insult to correlate the two in any manner, not that Mosto blamed him. His gaze shifted to the side, considering, uneasy. "I suppose that means Kakarot traveled further than expected." He never bothered to mutter around Mosto, they both knew whatever it was he would be able to hear it one way or another.

For all the skill with telepathy and psychic ability his species was imbued with, however, Mosto found that Tyber was annoyingly inscrutable. It was his own fault, anyway, he taught him how to put up the mental walls to block any attempts at peeking. But _this_ , he hid _this_ from him, too? "You…knew the Saiyan landed on Earth."

" _Of course_ he did!" He rolled his eyes again, as if it was the most obvious conclusion. "Jaco's report was ridiculous—'the pod didn't show up'? Bullshit, they're _meant_ to power through asteroid fields and everything-but-a-moon-or-planet. Just because he had his back turned while playing around with Earthlings doesn't mean a thing."

Rather than immediately respond to the revelation that Jaco was wrong and incompetent (as if that was a shock) Mosto blinked. "Ooh, you actually cursed." Him being a father of three young children, he generally avoided the habit of cursing. It wasn't funny to hear him do it.

All right, it was a little funny, even if Tyber didn't think it was funny. Even if Tyber was staring at Mosto like he wished he had laser eyes. He kept such a tight lid on his persona, sometimes grumbled at his teacher "I hate you"—but the words bore no weight. They were simply the grumblings of a petulant boy that somehow grew up into a man that _cared_ more deeply than he very well should. 

He wasn't so terribly different from the wound-up teenager Mosto mentored all those years ago; Jaco was correct (for once) Tyber _wasn't_ very much older than Bulma when he joined—just turned 19 in fact. He still held himself to a very different standard from other people, as if he had never had a right to be considered a child. Child implied needing protection, child implied innocent, Saiyans were anything but that in his own mind. The very topic of Saiyans set him into a state of defensiveness and anger, even one that slipped through the cracks as an infant and tumbled onto a new planet. "I don't want to talk about this," he warned, tail lashing. "What about the Earthling?" 

 _It's your loss for when Bulma starts poking at it_ , Mosto thought but didn't say (fortunately, one cannot be _taught_ mind-reading, as far as he knew, so Tyber would never turn the tables on him). "Our comrade," he instead corrected him. "I know this is your first recruit and you want to do it right, but can't you be…nice?"

Tyber stared at him, the weight of pain and battles over the years hanging over him like a shroud of darkness, his expression looking as if he were being mocked by such a question. Mosto knew what the answer would be already, neither of them could _afford_ to take it easy on a young and inexperienced teenager just joining the first time. He didn't when he was training Tyber, it was understood to be necessary. Mosto groaned, rubbing at his head in frustration while Tyber breathed in sharply through his nose. It was a difficult thing to contend with, as much as the latter liked to pretend he was a hard-ass he very much wasn't.

Then, like a bolt of reason through an unreasonable situation, Tyber ventured an idea. "You're going to be teaching her, too, right?" When Mosto squinted at him curiously, he shrugged and circled his hand around in an imitation of looking casual. "All the same as you taught me, with some additions since she's an _alien_ alien."

Why did he have to drag things out? One would think being _away_ from the planet of emotionally repressive lunkheads would make him more eloquent. "What are you getting at?"

"You and I keep her on a strict schedule, she won't have _time_ to work herself to death. Understand?"

"…Are you implying that we need to enforce bedtime?"

His eyes widened, taken by surprise at the comparison. "I…guess so."

"And you were scolding _me_ about acting like her father!" Mosto laughed, dodging the subsequent barrage of offended punches from Tyber. "You soft-hearted scoundrel, I can't wait to tell Zurui!"

He turned beet red, tail fur bristling to an extent seldom seen for him. "Good lord, don't you _dare_!" he yelled trying, but failing, to land a blow on his teacher to knock him away. "Get out of here! Go get your recruit!" 

Mosto caught Tyber's fist, grinning playfully as he twisted and pulled him out of the room. "Not a chance, it's _your_ turn, _Dad_." 

"I hate you so much." 

He didn't, they both knew that he didn't, but it was good to at least concentrate on something besides the nerves that came with a new person coming along. Neither of them knew what to expect from Bulma; from Tyber's impression she was a child in over her head, from Mosto's she was a reasonably good-hearted young woman with a brain bigger than her common sense. Whether they were correct in their judgment or not, it was understood that they needed to do their best to shape her into a proper Galactic Patroller after all, without coddling, without giving in to temper tantrums or _whatever_ would happen next.

Bulma wasn't aware of what she was in for as she concluded her demonstration and basked in the praise of the King, but both of her teachers absolutely could not afford to be _lenient_ if they wanted her to survive her first year on the Patrol.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited to fix a flub and also I hope y'all don't think I'm bashing Yamcha 'cause that is absolutely not my goal, they're just two kids kinda half-assedly realizing they're not the miracle romance they thought they were but too anxious about being alone to acknowledge it.


	6. Crueler to be Kind

The meeting went fine, Bulma told herself, though Mosto did disappear once she really got into the presentation. It was too bad, she wished he could have seen some of the things she showed to the King. _Well, I can always show him later_ , she thought with a sense of triumph as she packed her things back into their capsules. Nothing else could happen that would be as world-shattering as seeing aliens, finding out one of her best friends _was_ an alien, or scratching the surface of what was out there in the universe. It was enough for one day, surely. _I wonder what time it is back on Earth?_ What were her friends doing? At least a day had passed while Bulma was in the machine. _How's the training going?_ she asked a fictional version of Yamcha as if he was sitting across from her with that warm smile of his. The facsimile responded that things were fine, but it wasn't the same without her.

 _Of course it's not_ , she said to the imaginary boyfriend, eyes closed to properly visualize his face. It was a silly, simple pleasure that she indulged in, yes, nonetheless—

"Are you asleep?" a gruff question startled Bulma out of her reverie.

 _YOU,_ she wanted to spit, glaring daggers at the Saiyan that had _rudely_ snuck up while she was lost in thought. Her glare wasn't as potent to him as it was to people back on Earth, however, as he turned from her to the King—metaphorical daggers glancing off him as harmlessly as feathers. _Stupid wannabe tough guy! With your dumb tail and hair! **Look at me when I'm insulting you!**_

(Unbeknownst to her, while she was cursing him _he_ was cursing a certain Namekian for making him go out of his way to change back into his uniform just to see the King and deal with the girl. Had she been gifted with the same abilities as Mosto, she would have heard him mentally grumbling about hassles and friendship being a mistake.)

"Oh, Officer Tyber!" the King answered for both of them, looking delighted where Bulma was peevish and trying to will his head to explode.

Tyber nodded and saluted the King respectfully. Bulma was certain that his inhumanly straight posture as he did the military thing was due to a stick up his ass. "Your Majesty," he greeted, treating Bulma's continued glare with the same attitude as someone ignoring a spoiled little monster.

"We face each other on equal levels in the Patrol," the King explained, though Bulma didn't question why he wasn't being bowed to. "I feel no need to have my officers be overly reverent with me."

She really didn't ask, after all, but it was nice to have context.

"I was…" Tyber paused, considering his choice of words carefully with all the anticipation of someone preparing to open a door that might or might not contain a raging lion behind it. "…Asked," he eventually said with the attitude of _wanting_ to say he was tricked. "To show the recruit around HQ before she began any official duty."

That was a perfectly reasonable thing say.

Which was exactly why it offended Bulma so deeply. " _Seriously_?" she whined, scrambling to her feet so as not to be in a position of vulnerability while arguing. "Haven't you run me around here _enough_ today?!" The woman jabbed her finger at him accusingly, though intellectually she knew it wasn't Tyber specifically that led her around. "What I need is a bath and some rest!" He had a lot of nerve, after all, didn't he realize how important it was to sink into some warm water with soothing bubbles? Apparently not, knowing men he probably used soap bars to wash his hair and called it good (if he _used_ it)! She never thought she would ever have to go without that luxury, she wouldn't abide by it!

The alarmed look the King gave her and Tyber pressing the bridge of his nose told her that even if she yelled her loudest and pouted it would not magically get a proper bath for her. In fact, it only seemed to further irritate the already eternally irritated Saiyan as he drew himself up, squared his shoulders, and set his jaw. "That's _enough_ of that," he rebuked in a manner that screamed (or rather, levelly intoned in his case) authority.

 _…That's it?_   She stared at him, hands on her hips. The way he talked to her sounded like a parent. A parent that was a total nag, anyway. It wasn't intimidating or impressive so much as annoying. _I'm not a kid—for that matter, I'm not **your** kid_ , she expressed to him via pinched eyebrows and a deep frown.

Despite her being undaunted, he continued with the reproach: "You're a Galactic Patroller." His tone remained frustratingly reserved, hardly like being told off and him expressing…something.

 _Regret? Disappointment? He doesn't even know me._ Bulma wasn't ignorant to peoples' feelings (even if she often felt hers were more valid), being in a business like running a corporation—although the PR front became tiresome—she _had_ to be able to pick up on cues. Her mother insisted that it was "woman's intuition" something entirely inherited from her, which she didn't see the logic in (though Panchy _did_ know when to precisely show up with a nice treat or cup of tea). Mosto seemed to hint that there was more to Tyber than he would let on (while she pointed out to him that he was also not revealing anything about _himself_ ), he held back a lot she could see right away. It made sense that he would practice restraint, after all when a Saiyan was incensed things would die or explode graphically.

There was more he wanted to say, his expression twisted as if he was fighting with himself to remain outwardly composed. For the briefest second, Bulma was sympathetic to his struggle. After all, being someone very much demonstrative of her emotions, she couldn't imagine what kind of hell it was forcing a passive demeanor at all times.

"Show a little more dignity," he finished with the hint of a hard edge on his tone.

 _—Okay, screw him._ Bulma scoffed, "I am _full_ of dignity! _And_ brilliance, and—"

The King interrupted her tirade by swiveling in between the two while waving his appendages frantically as though it would ward off any bad vibes. " _Actually_! Officer Tyber, we need to have the induction ceremony before Miss Bulma is officially an officer!"

The way Tyber's eyes narrowed as the King nodded at him insistently told Bulma that he was too polite to respond that His Majesty needed to kindly escort himself to a black hole, him smoothing his expression back to impassive showed he would never say it aloud. She wasn't certain if he didn't have the guts or if he was just that loyal to the cause of the Patrol—he probably could easily blow away the King with a flick, but _something_ took priority. It might have been loyalty, though the irksome way he held back even with her (someone he didn't seem to be a huge fan of) demonstrated a man that feared letting go.

 _How boring. How does his wife deal with that?_ a petty thought occurred as Bulma scowled at him, hoping she reflected how underwhelmed she felt with her expression.

"Jaco suggested that she would be ready to start training today," Tyber said carefully, slowly, like he was inwardly scrambling to find the best way to put his thoughts across. "I have been recalibrating the gravity chamber in preparation, however neither I nor Mosto feel she's ready to go that far so soon."

"A gravity chamber?" Bulma echoed, forgetting for the moment that she was supposed to be testy towards him at the sign of something _new_ that she could discover. The gravity modulators provided to Capsule Corp. by Jaco all those years ago must have been involved with that, it sounded like it might have been used for gravity training like astronauts. What would it entail for combat training?

"Oh, that old thing!" the King laughed, moving over to stand at Tyber's side. Tyber was almost comically bigger in comparison to the spindly King. Apparently unaware of this, he continued, "We use it for testing the bodysuits. They regulate gravity since other planets can have drastically different levels, so we have to make sure they're working correctly." He cast a good-humored glance at Tyber leaving Bulma unsure if he was teasing him or showing camaraderie. "Officer Tyber commandeers it for more extreme gravity resistance training—it's in a Saiyan's nature to keep fighting and get stronger, after all. Our tech division has a tough time with keeping it maintained—not to mention when it breaks down, I don't think any of them have a clue how to keep it updated at this point."

Bulma knew she should have been alarmed at the explanation implying she too would be expected to endure extreme gravity training, however—"Maintaining?" Her thoughts cycled through different ideas to improve the gravity chamber in a flash, eyes flicking from the two in front of her to the ceiling. "I can do that," she continued, brain busily buzzing away. "I can fix it up and keep it maintained once I've gotten an idea of what's under the hood." AKA, she had some time to dig into its guts and figure out what made it tick.

"Why, that would be wonderful! Wouldn't it, Officer Tyber?"

Tyber said nothing, only nodded, eyes sharply focused on Bulma with a look of reservation.

 _Is he trying to intimidate me now? Or do his eyes just always look freaky? Weirdo._ She arched an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms. "You think I can't do it?" she challenged returning the look with a scowl.

He shook his head, not breaking her gaze and seeming entirely unbothered by the pure rage radiating from Bulma. Something else was on his mind besides any fixing up she had planned and he soon stated, "You're more out of shape than I thought." It was an insult, a personal attack, but it was said in such a matter-of-fact tone and he didn't even follow it up with acknowledging Bulma's look of shock and outrage, he just saluted the King and left the room.

 _How…how **dare** he say that!_ she mentally screamed, unable to verbalize how _enraged_ she was at the parting shot. _Asshole! Bastard! Stupid monkey!_

The King shot her a sympathetic look, simultaneously looking intimidated by the furious Earthling as he shook his head. Bulma would have been equally irritated at someone showing _pity_ on her in a situation like this, however she was too occupied with fuming over how Tyber was right and wrong at the same time. _But he should be **ALL** wrong, dammit!_

"Officer Tyber isn't known for his way with words," he tried to appease her half-heartedly. "Please don't hold it against him."

Lacking a way with words made it sound benign, like Tyber was occasionally shy. Nothing like the _insult_ he had leveled at her and the general disdain he gave off—for what? Her age? "I'll hold whatever I damn well please against him!" she snarled ferociously, sending the helpless King cowering behind his desk.

He peeked out, shivering, looking like he should be sweating bullets though neither species he appeared to be made up of had sweat glands. "Ph…phrasing, Miss Bulma," he stammered. He sounded like he genuinely feared redirecting her ire away from her current target by defending Tyber. "Didn't our program cover the sexual harassment policy…?"

What did that have to do with being angry that she was insulted and wanting to smash in a Saiyan's face? "What?!" Bulma was too shocked to respond for a moment, until her expression scrunched up in disgust. "—Ew! That's not what I _meant_!" How dare anyone accuse her of wanting to get intimate with coworkers! Why was everyone around her inevitably a _pervert_? Sure, whatever, he wasn't bad-looking—Bulma could even ignore that he refused to look like anything other than an ornery thistle, but he was _married,_ he was some kids' _dad_. She had a boyfriend! _And he's a gigantic **jerk**!_ People could say what they wanted about her—she would track them down and rain vengeance for whatever was said, but they _could_ —she still had standards! "Never mind him!" she yelled, voice becoming shrill in a clear demonstration of how he _didn't_ affect her.

The King flinched, gradually moving out from behind his desk with a hesitant, "Of course…" He continued to look concerned, realizing privately that if she had any measure of ki it would be _crackling_ in a fiery storm right then. _What sort of recruit did Jaco bring here?_ Bulma would have heard him thinking if she were able to. "I was…erm, going to say that while Officer Tyber doesn't make use of them, we _do_ have some nice hot springs." Encouraged by Bulma relaxing her expression into one of curiosity, he went on: "Officer Tahaya would be the best person to show you them."

He paused meaningfully, nodding at her like he very much wanted Bulma to pick up on some "subtle" hint. She took it to mean that Tahaya was female, which did leave her curious about the demographics of the Patrol. The program said Frieza's army, while it was mostly made up of males, had a few female soldiers as well. However, the bases were heavily segregated by gender; apparently the GP had no such concern about the consequences of mixed gender headquarters. Then again, with so many alien species out there, not all of them were likely biologically compatible. _Wait—why am I thinking about this? Gross!_ "Thank you, Your Majesty," Bulma gave him her most gracious smile as she skipped over the questions her mind drifted to and addressed him. "I suppose then I'll have to take that up with Tahaya herself at the induction ceremony."

It wasn't a question or an actual supposing, she fully intended to speak to the woman herself no matter what it was about. First question: how did she tolerate being on a base full of men? Second question: was it her doing that there even _was_ a hot spring in the first place, because it sounded like something a woman would come up with. "Speaking of the induction ceremony," Bulma ventured while the King pulled himself up to rejoin her. "Would my sister be allowed to attend? Family have the right to be at important events, isn't that true?"

"Oh, Miss Tights?" He hesitated, expressing a clear conflict of interest. Bulma could imagine the dilemma going on then, shall he enforce the no civilians in HQ rule or risk offending a new officer? While she would have been irritated to have someone refuse her, she did feel bad for throwing such a conflict at a clearly kind-hearted person. The Galaxy King was a m…ale individual that genuinely desired peace and happiness for all; unfortunately for him he lived in a universe where Frieza _and_ Bulma existed. Eventually he gave her an uneasy smile and nodded. "Forgive my delay," he explained, lightly whacking himself on the head with one of his appendages. "We've never quite had a situation where family was already involved with the Patrol before. The closest perhaps was Officer Tyber, but even his parents opted to let it be."  
  
She was rather tired of hearing about Tyber, not to mention being _compared_ to him. How dare they? She was a sweet and delicate young lady and he was a rude, barbaric beast! Of course, he hadn't done anything particularly barbaric up to then, but underestimating and insulting Bulma Briefs was the worst crime in the universe! It did occur to the woman that the King had mentioned "parents" implying several things that she had no time or care to consider then, though her intellectual side was _very_ interested in analyzing it.  
  
He diverted the train of thought into "maybe later" station by nodding firmly. "Very well! Miss Tights will attend the ceremony, too!" The King then gallantly offered one of his appendages for her to hold onto for leading her through the maze of headquarters. She appreciated the chivalry (at least some people still practiced it!) despite feeling strange about holding onto an alien's tentacle like a man's arm. Treating it as a similar situation would be even more outlandish, even if he _wasn't_ her boss.  
  
Though he called it a "ceremony" there was no big fuss or preparation besides him poking a button on his desk and calling for all officers to report to the main hall. He followed it up with contacting Jaco specifically and telling him to bring Tights along. As he finished the commands and proceeded with leading her along to the main hall, Bulma wondered if she needed to be doing something specific to prepare for being initiated. Did Patrollers carry badges? Should she have changed into something nicer? She followed the King in somewhat of a daze, watching the halls converge into one great room where a steady stream of aliens all shapes and sizes marched in. It was an impressive sight, considering even the scale of the station from outside didn't reflect this mass, though the room was still eye-searingly white. (It occurred to her offhand that perhaps it was a tackier color she couldn't even see.) Bulma's eyes wandered over the different alien types—many were humanoid in shape, though not to the nearness of humanoid as Tyber in overall features. She couldn't pick out who Tahaya might be, none of the aliens appeared to be obviously female on first glance. The sheer bulk of the crowd made it difficult to see where her sister was as well.  
  
"Patrollers!" the King rang out, raising his arms. All the Patrollers obediently saluted at the same time, Bulma was now able to see Tights among them—she was the only one that didn't salute, instead she was holding up a recording device with a bright grin on her face. She made sure to beam happily so her best side was captured on what she assumed was something Tights would show her friends and parents later. "To our numbers, we add a very capable technician," he continued, his royal poise contrasting terrifically with the alien that cowered behind his desk at the outburst of a temperamental Earthling. "This is Bulma Briefs!"  
  
Bulma flashed a peace sign and a wink at the gathering as a wave of mumbles and gasps passed through. _"An Earthling?" "Tights' sister?" "Isn't she a kid still?"_   were the clearest snatches of conversation she could hear. What was with the Patrollers and being so hung up on her age? They had some nerve to not be totally impressed!  
  
"I expect you all to _be nice_ ," the King added sternly, crossing what passed for his arms and staring critically at the Patrollers. "Officer Bulma has some big surprises for all of us. Understand?"  
  
"Yes, Majesty," the Patrollers answered in unison.  
  
_Be nice? And they just all accept that?_   Bulma thought, raising an eyebrow as the King dismissed the crowd and apologized to her for having to leave so suddenly ("official Galactic Patrol business I need to attend to!") leaving her to again look around for whatever happened next. As she expected, Tights bounced up to her with the recording device in hand, all smiles and excitement.  
  
" _Officer_ Bulma!" Tights repeated what the King said, grinning broadly. Jaco came up beside her, looking smug at the splash _his_ recruit was making (or Bulma assumed that's what he was so pleased with, anyway.) "This is history, you know? The first Earthling in the Patrol!"  
  
"Of course it is," she preened in response. Though the truth of the matter was her "thriving off of positive attention" high was quickly ending and she very much needed some quiet time without considering big things. Bulma would never say that to anyone openly, however; no one except the Namekian that was coming up to them would know, and he respected her enough to keep silent about it. "Hey, Mosto!" Bulma brightened at seeing him—

Until she saw who else was with Mosto. _…Ugh. And Tyber, too._ The aliens made for quite the duo as they approached, a tall green man smiling proudly and an average sized monkey-tailed man frowning like someone stuck a foul smell under his nose. "You're looking for Tahaya," he announced rather than greeting Bulma. "Don't worry, I told her, she'll be coming up soon."  
  
"Ahhh, you're the best, Mosto!" Bulma cheered, ignoring Tyber with all the willpower she had. Suddenly remembering Tights and Jaco, she paused and pushed her sister forward. "By the way! This is my sister, Tights!"  
  
Tights said nothing as the two acknowledged her with a greeting, which was unusual since she wasn't _shy_ by any means. Instead she looked…awed?  
  
"Oh my gosh," she breathed, lost in her own world of wonder and fantasy at that moment. "A _real_ Namekian! And a real Saiyan! I've read so much about you guys, but I never thought I'd get to meet any of your species!"  
  
Tyber grimaced at the abrupt focus on him, though it was the only motion he made in response to Tights coming closer to examine the pair. Mosto continued smiling, apparently taking the attention all in good humor, thankfully. While Bulma wasn't _humiliated_ per se she was a little embarrassed at the—for the lack of a better term—gushing. The mortification only came when Tights continued with: "The kid Bulma knows—"  
  
It was then Bulma felt she had to interrupt that line of thought with a swift stomp on Tights' foot. Jaco mouthed an "ouch" as he watched Tights muffle her cries of pain and questions of why in the world her traitorous baby sister did _that_ out of nowhere. Tyber looked between the Earthlings, eyebrows raised; it was apparent even on his impassive expression he wanted to ask about "the kid" but settled instead for quietly observing Bulma with uncharacteristic interest. If Bulma had a measure of Mosto's ability, she would be hearing the barrage of questions flying between the officers about someone named "Kakarot" and whether it was inappropriate to point out that she did in fact smell faintly of Saiyan. Since she could not (and thankfully would not, even _she_ respected the right to private thoughts) read minds, all she saw was two men staring at her for assaulting her sister out of nowhere. She just shrugged and waved it off with a laugh. "Tights is an author, you know," she explained. "She gets overexcited about things."  
  
Mosto nodded hesitantly, more so for the benefit of keeping Bulma's secret about Goku than actual understanding about her impulsive strike. It all seemed terribly excessive to go so far, she could imagine him thinking—Namekians were a peaceful sort after all. _Be careful about speaking of him_ , he told her through telepathy. _Nobody is supposed to know he's on Earth_. Something hung there awkwardly in Bulma's mind after the message ended. The way Tyber seemed lost in thought, the uncomfortable twist in Mosto's lips, and Jaco all but turning to stone at the mere mention of "the kid" spelled out an odd dissonance in the image of the Galactic Patrol.

 _Who else knows? Shouldn't Tyber, since he's a Saiyan, too? But then again, he wouldn't have been part of the Patrol twelve years ago, would he?_ Mosto did not answer her thoughts, surprisingly enough; being denied answers to her questions added to the list of her annoyances for that day, she directed a dirty look at him with intent to aggressively think mean things.  
  
"What is this, a meeting or a dreadful family photo?" a voice just out of her view snorted.  
  
The moment of awkwardness passed, shattered into several tiny pieces to go straight into the "things everyone will go into denial about" box. "Tahaya," Mosto began with a friendly wave. "Thanks for coming over. This is Bulma Briefs, our new comrade."  
  
Tahaya, from what it sounded like, was the only other woman in the Patrol. Naturally Bulma was eager to finally get a good look at her, though the creature she saw when she turned around did not look female in the slightest. She balked, trying to reconcile the feminine voice that spoke with the image of the speaker. If one asked Bulma what her idea of a woman was, she wouldn't answer with anything resembling what Tahaya happened to be—the alien was taller than Mosto, burlier than the strongest linebacker. She could have likely given Ox-King a run for his money in sheer magnitude of strength and size. Like most of the other aliens Bulma had encountered that day, Tahaya had no hair and no eyebrows, her eyes instead set deeply underneath a heavy brow and small spines jut out from her head in place of hair. The same spines were present on her arms, they reminded the Earthling of a spiky fruit when she thought about it, though the color of Tahaya's skin recalled the dark pink roses her mother grew. The alien woman was not Bulma's idea of ladylike, yet there was something oddly beautiful about her in the calm way she presented her terribly imposing self. "I see," the rich and smooth tone coming from her dark mulberry lips further confused Bulma on whether she should categorize Tahaya as ugly or lovely. "Thank goodness, it's about time another woman joined the team!" Her smile broadened as she threw an arm around Bulma's shoulders amicably, disregarding the size difference as if it didn't matter.  
  
The show of solidarity immediately endeared Bulma to Tahaya, regardless of how frightening she appeared at first inspection. She grinned back, holding out her hand to Tahaya's free one to shake. "Nice to meet you, Tahaya. I get it, I was surrounded by men back on my planet too, I know it sucks." Usually such a statement would follow with "present company aside" but as Mosto technically wasn't a man (Namekians were genderless despite appearing male and using male pronouns in the common language, she understood) and she disliked the only other two men present, they didn't count.  
  
"Hey now," Tahaya laughed, firmly grasping Bulma's hand, then playfully spinning her out from under her embrace. "Depending on how cute they are, it might not be _that_ bad!"  
  
From that moment, Bulma could conclude she definitely liked Tahaya. Two out of four officers she had met so far wasn't a bad score. The way she gracefully pulled Bulma away from the others, noting that she needed to be shown where the hot springs were located only further endeared her. It took a moment before Bulma was able to find her words again, "Mosto's a really nice guy, huh?"  
  
"Tyber's nice, too," Tahaya replied, glancing over at her. "He's just a social disaster. Saiyans aren't really taught to make friends and play nice with the other kids, you know?"  
  
"I guess," she grumbled, bothered that once again the rude man had to be brought up. "I wish that I came during the time when Mosto was still training recruits."  
  
Tahaya laughed, a booming sound that reverberated through the halls which caused some officers to poke their heads out and see what caused such a noise. "Oh no!" She swiped away a tear from her eyes. "No, no, no—you do _not_ want Mosto as a combat teacher, he was absolutely _brutal_." Unnoticed by Bulma, the officers who peeked out at them immediately shrank back at the words "Mosto" and "combat" together in a sentence.  
  
"Him…?" Bulma reached through her memory to try and recall anything where Mosto was more intimidating than Tyber. It was difficult and faint, but the image of his eyes hardening when she brought up the Saiyans did summon up more fear than anything Tyber did or said. That couldn't be so, right? Mosto was a kind person… _Then again, it's always the nice ones you have to watch out for_. "And I suppose you're saying then the stupid monkey is actually _not that bad_ ," she bit out, lips curling at the thought.  
  
Tahaya reached back and slightly slapped Bulma on the shoulder (which was still enough to make her stumble). "Hey, watch it with the 'monkey' cracks, that's offensive," she warned. "You wouldn't go around calling Mosto a slug, would you?" Giving her no actual time to answer, Tahaya went on, "And no, he's not. Once you get to know him. My advice? Don't take what he says too seriously, don't take _him_ too seriously." She paused and shot her a mischievous smile. "It throws him off when you do that."  
  
Finally, someone actually _understood_ her favorite method of throwing someone off their game. The two chattered some more about the other Patrollers, their friends in their personal lives, current fashions, and ways of doing makeup (Tahaya had difficulty finding colors that matched and would stain her naturally dark lips effectively.) By the time they had reached their destination, Bulma had nearly forgotten why they were together in the first place but didn't want the conversation to end. It was relieving to have someone with her that just wanted to talk about _normal_ things.  
  
The non-descript door in front of them simply read "Relaxation Chamber" in different languages (which Bulma was now able to interpret effectively). Opening it up revealed a room that looked nothing like a _chamber_ and as though someone somehow managed to install an entire mountainside hot spring in the space. She stepped in slowly, slack-jawed, staring around as though she had been hit in the head and was dreaming. Tahaya calmly directed her to the changing rooms, laid out the rules and timetables for who goes in when (naturally it was segregated by gender and by species as some involuntarily changed the water temperature to impossible levels). "Please, can't I go in _now_ ," Bulma found herself begging. The steaming waters called to her to sink in and let all the cares and troubles of the day melt off like the spring thaw.  
  
"Sheesh!" Tahaya exclaimed, shaking her head with an amused smile. "Was the rigor really so much for you?" Nonetheless she relented and helped Bulma to go through preparing for the springs. She even offered to block off sight of her and keep watch at the door in case someone came in. It didn't bother Bulma to change or ease herself into the waters in front of another woman, at any rate, it did feel nice to have that kind of security in the absence of her sister. Though it was a humorous comment at first, Tahaya did tilt her head at Bulma in contemplation. "Is it anything you want to talk about?" She must have realized it sounded unusual or condescending as she clarified: "I mean with learning everything. I know Earth is kind of a solitary little planet in comparison to others, so an Earthling coming in and getting all of this information…from what Mosto said, too, you took on a _lot_." At the blank look Bulma gave her, she shrugged and crossed her arms. "If you're not comfortable talking about it, you don't have to."  
  
"No, I'm not uncomfortable," she replied, resting her arms on the edge of the spring to stare up at Tahaya cautiously. Mosto warned her to keep quiet about knowing a Saiyan on Earth, and she certainly didn't want to betray Goku's position to a bunch of overzealous space police. She couldn't share the full magnitude of what was bothering her no matter what. "It's just…I'm a genius, you know?"  
  
"Ah, and so modest, too," Tahaya added with a humorous smirk, dodging the splash of water Bulma smacked at her in response.  
  
"You know what I mean!"  
  
"Do I?"  
  
This was getting nowhere fast, she shook her head in annoyance and let out a harsh sigh. "I just mean that…I thought I knew so much, but now…" She frowned, the thoughts of her revelation about Goku, Frieza, and the whole universe pressing down on her. "I'm questioning everything." It would usually be a good thing to have further questions and considerations for her scientific brain, but it was all too damn _personal_ for her to enjoy the thrill of uncovering new mysteries and adventures therein. Nobody could do anything about Frieza, a clear threat; Goku didn't _know_ he was an alien nor the beast that came out during the full moon. What could she possibly do about it? It wasn't her responsibility and it was clearly dangerous, but she felt like she was involved if not for the fact that Frieza destroyed planets and might someday catch wind of Earth. The amount of senseless _daring_ she was experiencing couldn't have been healthy for anyone, especially not her.  
  
"Like I said," Tahaya's voice interrupted her worries softly, the gentle tone soothing her somewhat like the comforts of her own mother's childhood lullabies. "It happens, and Earth is more isolated than most planets. I understand that you need time to take it in." Though she was still acting as a living blockade to protect Bulma's modesty, she turned to face her. "It's an awfully lonely planet. Pretty, but lonely."  
  
It occurred to Bulma to wonder whether Tahaya had been to Earth before or just watched it from a distance, which sounded equally lonely. She could have made an ironic comment about how she, like her planet, was pretty and lonely. The wistful tone of Tahaya instead caused her to query, "What's your planet like, Tahaya?"  
  
Darkness passed through Tahaya's eyes in response, leading Bulma to shudder and lower herself into the water up to her nose as if that would rid the cold feeling, watching her carefully. She knew before the answer came after a long, pained pause, whatever there was to say about it wasn't pleasant. "Gone," Tahaya murmured, her tone fell in grief and eyes shut with a pained expression that she likely very much did _not_ want to show in front of anyone, let alone a stranger like Bulma.  
  
Oh, what had she done? Twice in one day she hurt people she was supposed to be bonding with—Bulma usually didn't pay much mind to her thoughtlessness, but on the topic of _loss_ even she had standards. Tahaya, Mosto, the Galaxy King—everyone on the Patrol with some exceptions had been so _welcoming_ thus far, and there she was acting like a babbling ingrate. "…Frieza?" she asked despite knowing right away that the answer would confirm it to be true.  
  
She never knew she could hate someone she had never met, like she thought upon first learning of Frieza. The way Tahaya drew in a long breath and nodded, agony written across her very being made Bulma outright wish to bring about his demise _personally_ —a very alarming thought as she claimed to be civilized. _I can't **do** anything! And Goku can't protect me from any of this, Goku can't fight Frieza. If he did…_ He might perish. Earth might perish. She understood even more the struggle the Patrol faced with _knowing_ Frieza was evil and unjust but all the consequences for standing up against him. So many civilizations destroyed that she didn't even know about without the aid of the program, did they rebel against Frieza? Did he simply become bored and decide they no longer were of use? She wondered again if the remaining Saiyans knew it was more likely Frieza destroyed their home and simply lied about what happened to continue having their cooperation. Would it matter? If they did know, they must have also known there was no hope trying to enact revenge. "I'm sorry!" she burst suddenly, standing upright regardless of any lack of clothing. "I'm sorry, Tahaya! I didn't mean to make you remember something horrible!"  
  
"Hey, come on," Tahaya chuckled, forcing a bittersweet smile. "It happened a long time ago. This isn't a 'pity Tahaya party' now. Mosto was right, though, you _are_ a rebellious little thing, aren't you?" Her expression sobered as Bulma lowered herself back into the water in embarrassment. "You can't stand up to Frieza. None of us can. I know it frustrates you but think about it: my people are scattered now. The ones that weren't killed either joined the Patrol like I did, fled, or…" She cringed in distaste. "They joined him. And we didn't even _do_ anything to offend him. Now imagine if you stood up to Frieza."  
  
He would kill her, she understood. He would hunt down the planet she came from and destroy it out of spite and assurance no other upstarts would try to face him. "I couldn't," she croaked, looking down at the rippling water, curls of steam coming around her like so many fingers closing in. "I couldn't do anything. And then he'd destroy Earth."  
  
"All you can do is be happy it wasn't your planet hearing a story like mine!" Tahaya asserted, slapping her hand down on the floor, a spiderweb of cracks appearing under the force. "Understand? You can defy Frieza, or you can live another day. Remember that, Bulma."  
  
Curse her curious and adventurous mind. Wasn't she supposed to be relaxing in a hot spring rather than having a serious conversation? Tahaya interrupted any further dilemma by looking over her shoulder at the door, then standing to go retrieve Bulma's clothes and a couple of towels. "Come on, Ty and Big Green wanted to show you something before the shift turns over."  
  
Bulma snorted at the idea of Tyber or Mosto being called such cutesy names to their face, putting away any thoughts of Frieza into a separate "things Bulma needs to pretend aren't as bad" box in her mind. At least she had another ally in the Patrol, even if it wouldn't lead to toppling Frieza it _would_ lead to good makeup tips.  
  
"And before you ask, yes, it _was_ my idea to have this installed," Tahaya added as she tossed over the clothes. "It was easy to convince the King, I just told him Frieza _wouldn't_ do it for his men. I'm working on an actual bathing area next, showers are so difficult when you're eight feet tall!"  
  
"I feel that," Bulma agreed, despite absolutely not qualifying for feeling anything close to what Tahaya felt about general size.

 

* * *

 

There were times when even Tyber was unable to sustain his facade; usually it was after long and exhausting tasks. Today it was after a single face-to-face conversation with Bulma (with no one to distract from him except the King) that had him pacing back and forth in the gravity chamber while Mosto stood uncomfortably close by. Not that Mosto had a choice in how close he stood to him, the gravity chamber was pitifully small—he couldn't stretch out across the floor to do pushups and Tyber couldn't properly do fighting drills. It was never meant to be used as a training room, it wasn't facilitated for that and the GP technicians—though they were brilliant and hardworking—had no idea of how to go about modifying gravity tech for that purpose. Kadab, the head technician, always insisted cryptically that someone would show up one day that had the gumption and creativity to do it. Mosto suspected that they meant Bulma, though as usual for them Kadab remained infuriatingly quiet about any details related to the "someone." Coming from a race as old as the universe itself gave them the kind of unknowable mysticism necessary to be vague as all get out.  
  
Tyber, however, was not thinking of their prophecy, or even acknowledging that Mosto was within two feet of him watching the gradual unraveling of his composure. He was too busy cursing his luck and reaching the "Tyber can handle people today" limit. To say the girl made him uncomfortable, as Mosto pointed out, was like saying losing one's arm was a mild inconvenience. Of course, in Mosto's case he could simply gather his ki and regrow his arm, Tyber would be shit out of luck. _Ahhh—no, don't start that habit again!_ he scolded himself as Mosto tallied the amount of swears coming that day.

They had increased since he met with Bulma the second time and Mosto observed, "I haven't heard this much from you since before Nori was born."  
  
" _I don't want to hear it_ ," Tyber snarled, rounding on him with a frightening and truly Saiyan look. Though to Mosto he just looked ridiculous since he had been fussing with his hair (tugging on it, combing through it, trying to make it lie flat again, the usual process) and his ki had been circulating relentlessly in response to stress. The side effect left him with a drawn complexion and tangled, bristly hair. _What the fuck did Jaco **do**?_  
  
"Oh, my, that's one I haven't heard since Namizu was born," Mosto remarked with the air of observing clouds in the sky.  
  
"SHUT UP!" he roared, electric sparks of ki shaking the room slightly and raising both hair and tail fur into previously unrealized levels of ludicrous frizz. "You've got a lot of nerve putting this on me! I—" His voice trailed off into a croak, his speech too strained and incomprehensible for even Namekian ears.  
  
Mosto grimaced, staring at him thoughtfully though at the same time he was deeply offended that Tyber implied he "put" any unreasonable expectations onto him. It had been unusual how calm he was being just the hour prior, it seemed he finally reached the edge of his nerve upon realizing just _what_ his first student was about. _Only a child, only a child_ , the frantic thoughts spilled out laced with stress despite his mental walls.

"Did you think I was being foolish?" he asked, tone quiet in contrast to the Tyber's. "Should I not believe you're ready? I taught you myself, did I not?" he continued, stepping closer to be directly in front of his former student. "You understand, my worry earlier was genuine. Despite that, that doesn't mean I didn't think you were ready, I was merely concerned about _how_ rough you would be since you are what you are."

Soft spot for children or not, he was leagues stronger than any other Patrollers. They both were aware, on Tyber's part that awareness was clearly the issue.  
  
He balked, shuddering, ki level coming down quickly in response to Mosto's proximity. The static in the air of the too-small room similarly dropped as he took a final, frustrated swipe through his hair and a deep breath. "I _can't_ ," he choked, sounding as through he was trying to speak through immense pain. "I thought I could, but I can't. Mosto, that girl…she's a child, she's so _fragile_ , and has _no_ experience whatsoever…"

 _You are what you are._  
  
The barrier over his mind crumbled and Mosto could see the image of Tyber's oldest daughter Celrey, fussing and pouting over something that only made sense to ten year olds. _"You're so lame, Dad!"_ the memory whined, sapphire blue eyes burning with pent up half-Saiyan fury. _"You think I can't do it?!"_  
  
_"You think I can't do it?"_ The eyes stayed, but the form changed. It was Bulma, staring at him with the same expression of challenge and annoyance.  
  
_Oh. Oh, dear_.  
  
Bulma was incredibly perceptive for someone that couldn't read minds or sense ki, she was correct that Tyber held back his emotions and specifically avoided eye contact with her. She was incorrect in the reasoning why, assuming it was out of dislike or that he was angry at something she had done. Though, if she knew the _actual_ motivation, she might lose her nerve to go through with training out of apprehension at being seen like a stranger's daughter. (Or, of course, the reasonable fear of being beaten bloody by a species with the reputation of being animalistic.) Tyber certainly was already pulling away out of the reaction to suddenly and viscerally _feeling_ sentimentality towards an outsider, being aware of his own status as an alien bred for combat. He could try to be gentle or _nice_ as Mosto put it, but there was only so much restraint someone naturally inclined towards super strength could practice, especially when tarnished with uncomfortable thoughts of how similar the student acted to someone beloved.  
  
Mosto surely didn't understand why some aliens insisted on so much fuss and drama. "Oh, for pity's sake," he sighed, shoulders sagging. "You should have told me _sooner_."  
  
"I thought I could handle it," Tyber protested defensively. "But then I…"  
  
He waved it off, smacking Tyber lightly on the head. "Yes, yes, I know, spoke with her directly and got put off because she reminds you of Celrey."  
  
Tyber's cheeks reddened, the humiliation of being admonished like an impetuous _teenager_  utterly forgotten as he covered his face in shame. "Do you have to be so blunt! It sounds irrational when you put it like that!"  
  
It _was_ irrational, but at the same time Mosto did feel guilty for directly putting Tyber in the line of fire for his anxiety attacks. Mosto, it turned out, relied too heavily on his own ability to just _know_ what others are thinking. How foolish, no better than the arrogant youth he watched over. While his people had a reputation for wisdom it wasn't something naturally gained, but earned through life experience, and compared to the elders Mosto was a young Namekian. Regardless, Tyber kept up a solid wall around himself always, with it relaxed—he realized then, yes, relaxed, not slipped. He had done it on purpose—he could share with Mosto the thoughts he wasn't able to put into words. All the emotions that coiled up in him like so many snakes, each piling on top of each other to add to his misery and contradictory decisions. "Regardless of how rational it is or not," he said calmly, placing his hands on Tyber's shoulders to steady him as he had begun to slump. "You can't let it eat at you, that girl will surely notice you're being half-hearted. She'll sense your fear. And then where will she be?"  
  
The image of Bulma getting annoyed and flouncing off to seek out _whatever_ caught her curious fancy without their knowing, the consequences therein. That girl had stubbornness comparable to Saiyans and was equally foul tempered, of _course_ she would run off. Even someone blessed with the devil's own luck wouldn't stand a chance if that happened.  
  
"I know you think of her as a child, and it's true, she's a teenager in all technical terms, but if you're anything _besides_ relentless—"  
  
A horrifically gory image, unspeakable things, tears flowing from those eyes—god, those eyes that reminded him so much of his _family_ , his worst nightmare coming to life at the behest of Mosto trying to prove a point about his hesitance. Tyber made a choking noise as if he was going to vomit at the lurid visions, all the things he wanted to prevent as a Patroller. "That—that would be more callous, I know," he whispered, looking for all the universe like someone completely and utterly cornered. Unsurprisingly he felt helpless; his anxiety itself was a living breathing beast that often wrapped its claws around his mind, driving an otherwise balanced man to madness. "But—"  
  
" _Seriously_ , why didn't you bring it up when we last spoke?" Mosto groaned, giving Tyber another smack on the head to snap him out of his reverie. Usually one would not deal with someone suffering from anxiety in this way, Mosto understood, but Tyber was made of sterner stuff and _needed_ such methods. "Yes, assigning bedtime for our little workaholic is all fine and good, but you being able to break bones by lightly tapping someone is another thing entirely! I can put limiters on _you_ just as easily as I can put weighted clothes on Bulma, remember? I'm magic." He wiggled his fingers for emphasis, which amused him far more than Tyber—then again Tyber wasn't much for joking even at his most casual.  
  
"You're way too close," Tyber said first rather than reacting to the idea he put forth. The click of his teeth together and narrowing of his eyes, however, showed that he wasn't pleased with it even if it _was_ a practical solution. Abnormal sentimental Saiyan or not, he was still a Saiyan and had his pride in combat strength. He hated that such a quandary affected him even after as long as he had been away from Saiyan culture; it disgusted him further to remember the words of the man who sired him: _"Mercy and kindness are weaknesses to be exploited."_ It was usually followed by the senseless killing of a feebler lifeform in front of his very eyes, with the expectation that he would mimic the action. These thoughts haunted him less than his escape from planet Vegeta, even so they pressed like a stone on his chest.  
  
_If mercy and kindness are weaknesses, would it not be better to weaken yourself then?_   his common sense pointed out as Mosto stepped back, frowning at him impatiently.  
  
"Okay. Fine," he relented, throwing up his hands. "I'll proceed with training like I intended, with inhibitors on me and weights on her." He paused, watching Mosto, tail twitching with anticipation at the rug being pulled out from under him. "Not _too_ much inhibiting, though." Curse his pride, he sounded like a prepubescent boy. _Oh yes, Tyber, how pride-worthy and honorable—getting all choked up about **not** breaking a child with a touch._  
  
"Ahh, you're impossible!" Mosto grinned despite the scolding and ruffled his hair. "It's good that you decided already, because Tahaya and Bulma are right outside the door."  
  
"Wha _—_?! What do you mean! I couldn't sense them at all!" he cried, tail puffing out. When Mosto only answered him with a smirk, Tyber (not for the first time) regretted very much ever befriending an alien that could not only read minds but abused it to mess with people.  
  
"Supriiiiise, Ty~" Tahaya lilted as she pushed open the creaky door, Bulma in tow. "I made progress on hiding my ki, too! Impressed?"  
  
"Don't call me that in front of the girl," he only rumbled in reply, eyes averting immediately from them (he couldn't, he just couldn't look at those eyes, not with knowing full well he would have to punch that girl in the face afterwards).  
  
Telling Tahaya to do anything was about as productive as trying to stop a storm with one's bare hands, he was reminded of this ever so vividly by way of her shoving him over to squeeze into the room. "See, _this_ is the gravity chamber, Bubu," she explained, now casually crushing him between a nearly seven-foot-tall Namekian and her eight-foot-tall self. "As you can see, it's kinda puny. Big Green here can't be as big and green like usual, and Ty can't do that beating himself obstinately to get stronger thing Saiyans like doing." How casually she told this, now moving out of the room to give space for Bulma to look around, even brought a bloom of purple to Mosto's cheeks.  
  
"Tahaya, honestly," he muttered, feeling the sneer of Tyber directed at him ( _it's not so funny when it's happening to **you** , now is it?_). "Don't encourage her to be—"  
  
"Herself?" She shamelessly smiled at them, nudging Bulma to prompt exploration. "I'm going to head off now, Bubu. Remember what I said, don't let these boys get you down, huh?"  
  
Bulma— _Bubu??_   thought Tyber incredulously—only nodded with an affirmative.

A tense silence followed her departure, broken up only by the curious ministrations of the Earthling as she pulled tools from her capsules to inspect the torturously tiny room. For all she didn't have any love towards the grumpy Saiyan, the level of dedication and masochism required to train himself in such an obsolete prison had to be commended. _And corrected,_ she thought critically, rubbing her chin. _How long before this thing has a total meltdown and kills Mr. Jerkwad there?_   She immediately belayed the idea, realizing how acutely disturbed it made her to consider the idea of someone in the Patrol dying already. No, she couldn't let that happen, especially not something easily preventable at the hands of her genius.  
  
While Bulma plotted future engineering, her mentors exchanged looks, mutually attempting to strategize how they were going to broach the topic of training. Not to mention, Mosto insisted with his eyes, Tyber had something important to tell Bulma, didn't he? _Remember? She thinks you hate her._  
  
_I—you don't just **tell** people out of nowhere you don't hate them!_

Mosto smirked with that aggravating knowing look in his eyes, _Isn't that how you asked out Zurui the first time?_  
  
" _I will bury you in salt, you shitty gastropod!_ " Tyber thundered _aloud_ much to his horror once he realized it. Bulma turning back to him with wide-eyed confusion and shock only further compounded his mortification at the slip.  
  
Mosto snickered, she got the hint that it must have been something he said via telepathy as Tyber accusingly pointed at him to show where the blame lied. They reminded her of two kids in the principal's office trying to pass culpability for who did what onto each other. The unexpected _childishness_ was enough to make her snort with laughter, further coloring Tyber's cheeks with shame.  
  
_You planned that_ , he directed to Mosto accusingly.  
  
_Don't be silly_ , Mosto replied mildly. _I can't predict the future._

He wasn't buying the innocent sage act. _I **know** you did._

"So, I'm already getting some ideas about what to do in here," Bulma interrupted as she noticed the side glances started up again between them. "Officer Tyber, as much as I hate to cut in on your telepathic arguing time, I wanted to consult with you about my ideas and any adjustments or suggestions you might have." She smirked with satisfaction at his embarrassed cringing. Maybe she didn't hate him as much as she did initially—it was as natural as breathing pushing that guy's buttons! With Mosto's insistence that he wasn't violent and the cool restraint he maintained, there was little risk of him (metaphorically and literally) blowing up at her.  
  
"Don't," was his only reply for a moment, even Mosto looked over at him in disbelief. He took a breath to collect himself, straightened up, and stared at her with an unfamiliar amount of determination.  
  
_Don't what, don't fix up this gravity enhanced crypt?_ she pondered but didn't get the chance to express before he continued.  
  
"Don't…treat me formally."  
  
It looked like it took great effort for him, and though Bulma couldn't fully appreciate it Mosto saw the war taking place in his mind as he spoke. Saiyans weren't known for remarkable diplomacy and interpersonal dealings, some unpleasant comments Tyber had heard in the past showed people thought his species was nothing more than a gang of stupid vicious thugs. He would agree on the lack of diplomacy and fostering of positive relationships, that was by an almost cultish design that had come up comparatively recently in the history of Saiyans; stamp out all sentiment and mercy, it makes you weak. From there, the brag that a "true Saiyan" _naturally_ felt no desire for less volatile feelings began and stuck. In Tyber's opinion, that relentless superiority played a part, however small, in the Saiyans' demise. He had pride, he loved fighting, those came naturally to his _people_. But he also had the desire to be close to others, to protect the weak from anyone who thought like Saiyans, to enact justice. That was how he came to be with _his_ people after his flight from his home planet. He wasn't sure if Bulma would play a significant part in the future, it didn't matter very much (he paid no attention to Kadab's prophecies), nonetheless he wanted to be sure at least she understood his position.

"You can just call me by my name," Tyber went on, hands clenching and unclenching with the desire to have them anyplace but somewhere she could see them. He settled for folding them behind his back in a suitably professional stance. "In the Patrol, we all stand on equal terms regardless of our ranks or experience."

Just please don't call him "Ty"—it was hard enough to bear getting that from Tahaya, he fought to keep from adding.

Bulma just watched him inquisitively, not interrupting but trying to analyze what his point might be and when he would get to it.  
  
_Please be patient_ , Mosto requested with a glance to her.  
  
_Fine, fine._

"And I don't…" He clenched his teeth (not baring them as that was a signal of challenge or anger for Saiyans) and pressed his lips together to keep anyone there from seeing the expression. At that rate he feared biting his own tongue clean off if he couldn't find the words, let alone spit them out properly.

The King's defense that he didn't have a way with words reoccurred to Bulma, though she had assumed initially it was due to a superiority complex rather than being shy or socially awkward by any measure. _But heck, it looks like he **is** shy,_ she realized with amazement. A big strong guy like him? Shy? People feared his species, didn't they? _…That does sound lonely, though._ She doubted that Saiyans, what remained, thought to engage in support groups; for all intents and purposes she figured if Tyber saw other Saiyans, he would want to kill them and vice versa.

"I don't…hate you. Or dislike you. Or resent you joining us, or anything that pertains to you as a person," he managed to explain at last. "I understand how you got the impression, however." He nodded empathetically, frowning as though he was displeased with something just out of his field of vision. "I _am_ annoyed with Jaco for recruiting you without explaining the full extent of our duties as Patrollers. That kind of irresponsibility towards someone as young as you is bound to get someone killed, exceptional or not."

 _Duties? You mean like letting Frieza do whatever the hell he wants?_ Bulma wanted to spite him by throwing that in his face, only Mosto's warning glare and the memory of Tahaya's passionate display at the loss she experienced stopped her. _You can defy Frieza, or you can live another day._ _Yeah…I wonder if Tyber thinks Frieza destroyed his planet?_   She wasn't sure why the thought kept nagging at her. _What good would it do asking him, though? At this rate he might cry, and I **don't** want to see what happens when this man cries._

 _For pity's sake_ , Mosto groaned. _Do you never let yourself stop and listen to someone?_

 _Do you ever consider reading minds is rude!_ Bulma snapped back.

Mercifully, despite the interruptions, it seemed Tyber could not read minds and went on totally ignorant to the belligerent thoughts bouncing back and forth. "But Jaco is a fool and that's not your fault. I must take blame as well, judging you as a child is demeaning."

"I'll say," Bulma couldn't help but comment. "Whatever, it doesn't matter," she sighed with a nonchalant shrug. "You're trying to say sorry? Then just say that and take the stick out of your ass, Tyber."

"Watch your language!" he scolded automatically, taking on that commanding tone again as a weak defense against the indignity of his ever-darkening complexion.

She laughed, "I get it, all right? You're old, you're a dad, of course you're going to see a nice young lady like me as a kid. Especially if you've got—how many kids?

"Three. Two daughters, one son," he answered without thinking, pulling out a palm-sized device with a screen from one of his belt cases. He paused when he realized he was about to casually show off pictures of his family and cleared his throat, putting the device back.  
  
"Aww—no! I wanted to see them!" Bulma insisted while Mosto doubled over with suppressed laughter.

" _Later_ ," he grunted, sending an evil look to the "shitty gastropod" at his side. "That's not what this is about regardless. You're right, I'm trying to say I'm sorry." Tyber straightened up (which was somehow still possible even with his impossibly straight posture) keeping a stubbornly calm expression despite Bulma understanding he was being honest with her.  
  
_Does he **ever** smile?_

"And…welcome to the Patrol. I will do my best to train you, so you will not die."  
  
Apparently, it was possible to express concern about the chances of someone dying and wanting to prevent that scenario with a stoic face. At least it was for the man in front of her.  
  
"Thanks…" Her tone in reply was dubious, Bulma simply raised her eyebrows at him and questioned how he ever managed in his personal life with the blunt and graceless way he spoke. "I forgive you anyway, I don't care that you see me as a kid." She gave him a cheeky smile and a wink, spying the fur on his tail bristling at the gesture. "As long as you don't find me _too_ charming, you've got your wife at home after all!"

 _Don't take him seriously_ , Tahaya advised.

The way he gaped at her while Mosto collapsed to the floor howling with mirth confirmed it.

"Eh?"

Bulma would without a doubt _never_ take Tyber seriously.

" _Eh_??"

No one in the room could be certain who would crack first in the two years to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with the word vomit about Frieza and introducing a clueless new person to the universe, next chapter we will actually see other characters besides Bulma, Tights, and Patrollers.


	7. A Single Gesture

Two months.

"Now, focus your breathing. Imagine a feather rising and falling with your breath."

Two months now Mosto had coached her on meditating and focusing her ki. While Bulma excelled at ki concentration and use of her senses, her progress with offensive ki use and flight wasn't to her liking. Her progress in physical combat and strength building was even slower, hindered by the insistence that she stop working and be in bed at a certain time as if she was a little kid again. Her hours were meticulously blocked off and surveyed by other officers, ones she hadn't even been properly acquainted with at that. While it did make sense for the training of a recruit, having _babysitters_ stifled her uncomfortably.

"Keep breathing…"

Besides that, her frustration at her combat teacher rivaled her frustration with her lack of excelling. "Can't I think about strangling the breath out of Tyber instead?" she complained, certainly not imagining feathers or whatever else Mosto told her to but instead violence and pain.

Mosto sighed in the darkness of her closed eyes. "Meditation is for concentration and letting go of negativity, not plotting the murder of your teacher." After a pause, Bulma felt a light flick of fingers against her forehead. "And your progress is _good_ in all departments, don't be such a perfectionist!"

No, she _had_ to be; Bulma Briefs would not settle for being average. She worked her ass off with very _few_ complaints the past two months and Mosto was the only one who gave her any positive regard for it. Tyber, as Mosto warned, was merciless—worse, he revealed a different level of cruelty to himself in his taunts. It was difficult to tell since he was infuriatingly impassive (apparently even for Mosto as well, she learned) if he was playing a part or if he was that terrible, but in Bulma's mind how he treated her was inhumane. As if he was taking revenge for her teasing him, he ordered Mosto to do…something, Bulma wasn't sure what it was, but it made her clothes _heavy_ with a snap of his fingers.

Weighted training clothing, Tyber explained, would stay on her even while not training. As he lectured about the gravity training that would come only when he decided she was ready, Mosto zapped what looked to be bracelets onto Tyber's wrists. She didn't understand why at the time, only when she began to refine her ki sense and was present when he took off the bands at the end of a session could she feel the difference. They acted as some sort of handicap to him solely for their training; he wouldn't call attention to it, but she could guess it was to keep him from shattering every bone in her body. Not that it mattered when Tyber gave Bulma no quarter in sparring anyway, though she sniveled at him to take it easy on her he just closed himself off and spoke the refrain, "I _am_ taking it easy. Your enemy will not. Fight back or die!"

It wasn't fair, she mentally blubbered, ki flashing out in wobbly bursts of frustration.

"Bulma," Mosto's voice arrived to bring her back to the present. "Focus. Breathe. Take that ki and form it into a ball."

 _Just imagine the ball_ , her thoughts continued the lesson as her ki began to absorb the static in the room. One thing she had observed about Tyber in their training sessions (besides that it was unfair that an old married guy had a killer body) was that he did not use ki techniques but was capable of them. His ki notably sparked and crackled with electricity, which Bulma decided would be useful to replicate. The closest she could theorize for how he achieved the effect was not something that occurred naturally within himself, but an adaptation of the static in his environment. Essentially, he absorbed it like the galaxy's most sour-faced lightning rod and fused his own energy into it; Saiyans were quite gifted with adaptation. Then, she decided, she could adapt too and began the process of copying what Tyber did to the best approximation she was able (without asking the man himself, of course). The effect for her ended in something that left her nerves numb whenever she channeled her ki through static, it was slow going but perhaps she could make that into her own technique.

It wasn't something she could convert into a ball as Mosto commanded, however, all it achieved was shooting out waves of static at him. "Ah! What are you doing?!" he cried in alarm.

Bulma's eyes flew open to see Mosto shuddering as though his own body was rebelling against him, the result of her ki static she realized much to her horror. "Sorry!" she said, reining the absorption back and releasing the current. "Sorry, that's another technique I'm working on."

Mosto grit his teeth, fangs prominent in a rare show of annoyance. "While I'm impressed by your creativity," he ground out, body apparently stiff from the whole experience. "You're getting _far_ ahead of yourself. Good heavens, girl, has no one taught you patience?"

It was a rhetorical question, he knew as well as anyone that Bulma's impulsiveness didn't allow for much patience. She frowned, closing her eyes instead of escalating anything into an argument so she could attempt the ki exercise again. _< Form it…into a ball…> _

Refining her use of Namekian ended up more prosperous than any attempts to fly, too. Bulma found that speaking to herself in the almost musical language helped her concentration better than any pep talks. "<Your ki is life, it must be formed and shaped>," she mumbled, feeling a hot spark form between her hands at last. Like a match struck, the light of her ki glowed bright against her eyelids, prompting her to open them on instinct. It was such a peculiar, warming sensation holding her own ki in that manner. Mosto told her that the energy was used for many things and called by many names. He also told her that it was generally used to lob at the face of an opponent, but that would come later. For the present, in learning concentration of her energy, Bulma would eventually be able to use it as a cushion and lift herself up in the air. At best, presently, she could only manage five inches off the ground in a meditative position, not nearly enough to achieve the soaring freedom she daydreamed about as she tinkered in the tech wing or worked through the tedium of gym time.

It would come in time as she continued to build her ki, he insisted, she just needed to be patient."<And like life, ki must multiply>," he finished for her encouragingly. "Your progress is _good_ , Bulma. Don't compare yourself to those of us who have been doing this sort of thing since birth."

As much as she loved the reassurance that she was doing good after all, she frowned while staring hard into the ki ball as if it was a scrying tool. "Tyber hates me. I'm pretty sure he's going to kill me if I don't quit," Bulma muttered glumly.

"He does _not_ hate you and he has no intention of killing you," he chided, a note of horror at the very thought of Bulma _believing_ such a thing in his tone.

It really did feel like that, though. Even with his sincerity in establishing how he felt, Tyber had nothing kind to say afterward, it was almost like deception.

 _That's how Saiyans are, isn't it?_ a nagging thought piped up for the fourth time that month. _They're deceptive, infiltrating planets as children, looking like humans when they have no humanity…_

No, that was juvenile and unfair to think. Bulma was unable to gain much information without drawing too much attention to herself about Goku's previous identity, but it had to count for something that he was such a good friend and noble sort despite being a Saiyan. She wasn't sure if Mosto was reading her thoughts then, about Goku or Tyber or even the whole Saiyan race. His expression made it difficult to see what he was thinking. She hoped he didn't hear that. It was all so obnoxious: the frustration at her teachers, at herself for her slow progress…it just irritated her.

 _Formed and…shaped. Do I need to be formed and shaped, too?_ Of course, she would be expected to conform a certain way to advance. It didn't sit right with Bulma, _nobody_ made Bulma Briefs conform. Another ki ball burst into life between her and Mosto, floating benignly beside the first. All at once an odd feeling of peace overcame her. She repeated, " <Like life, ki must multiply>."

A third ki ball formed, then another, they circled around their creator in a serene orbit while she marveled at the little miracles with a soft smile. One ki ball, a light blue color, tingled with voltage, the rest glowed gold like the sun at dawn. Now _there_ was progress. Maybe she didn't have to conform after all, Bulma would simply find her own way.

"Good, let your ki and intuition guide you." Mosto nodded, proudly beaming at her. "I'm not going to advise you in one way or another, but if you feel your strength isn't up to par, you can always work on your technique."

"I'm going to be really strong," she said petulantly, purely out of spite for being told she _couldn't_. "Even though I don't want to be gross and bulky."

"You're silly," he chuckled, reaching out and ruffling her hair. "Let's conclude the lesson for today, Bulma—Kadab wanted to speak to you, and…there happens to be a special delivery for you."

"My uniform?" Bulma asked, leaning forward eagerly, eyes sparkling in anticipation. The correspondence with the Oruians about the design she wanted was cordial, they updated her frequently on the uniform's status. They still had their hands ( _claws?_ ) full with their tasks before she arrived, however, so it would have been a good while before she received her uniform officially. At Mosto's nod, she sprang up into the air with a cheer, not realizing for that moment she was floating much higher than before. "Now I can start missions!" she shouted giddily, spinning a full turn before recognizing what she was doing.

"Congratulations," Mosto only said with a mysterious smile as she gawked at the suddenly very far away floor. "Now you see the value in clearing your mind of negativity, hmm?"

"Ohhh, shut up!" Bulma huffed, sticking out her tongue at him and turning away to float out of their training room. As soon as she left, however, she dropped to the floor again while heaving a great sigh. "Man, that took way more out of me than I thought," she muttered, resolving to continue ki building even outside of her time with Mosto.

For the here and now, she was split between going to retrieve her delivery from the mailroom or seeing what Kadab wanted to discuss. Keeping the head technician waiting seemed a bad idea even with her excitement, though Kadab was patient she did not want to test how far that went. Bulma skipped along the hall with bursts of ki in her steps, carefully searching out for their energy signal. The headquarters wasn't as difficult to pick up on the layout of after the relatively short time she spent there, it helped that her fellow officers were very friendly and always willing to point the way. She waved at said fellow officers as she proceeded to an open room crammed with blueprints (by her own design) and various technical odds and ends. Kadab, the squat creature with a bulbous head and amber-colored skin, sat in the middle of it tinkering away busily.

All Mosto said about them (Bulma called Kadab "her" while Mosto said "they", Kadab replied that it had been so long they forgot their specific identity, but Bulma could call them as she pleased) was that they came from an ancient long-extinct race of magic users. Alien wizards by the closest approximation; as such, while Kadab didn't have much ki or battle power to speak of, they were supremely intelligent and capable of magic that outstripped even the Namekian elders. They reminded Bulma of a wizened little grandma, or Roshi's sister Baba—however, unlike Baba, Kadab was a polite and gentle sort, no inclination towards extortion in exchange for use of their gifts whatsoever. Their uniform contrasted from the other Patrollers most of all, showing their position as solely a technician: a simple white lab coat with the insignia of the Patrol emblazoned on the breast pocket. "Bulma," they greeted without turning around, their voice a reedy pitch almost imperceptible by the average hearing. "I'll try to make it quick, I know you have a special delivery to pick up."

Bulma kneeled at Kadab's side, smiling and shaking her head. "There's no rush, Kadab, it's not like they're going to put me out on a mission the instant I put on my uniform." Contrary to how she usually reacted to older figures, Bulma enjoyed their demeanor—there wasn't a shortage of praise for her ideas and inventions, after all. It was like having an actual doting grandmother at work.

"They might," Kadab replied in that vague tone implying they had a premonition but wouldn't share it. "In any case, these plans you have for the new gravity room. I surmise that it will take another month to fully finish everything. Are you sure you wanted everything like that?"

"AI opponents, speed simulators, training levels, high resistance…" Bulma ticked it off on her fingers. The AI had been her idea, as well as increasing the levels of gravity, it was Tyber who suggested separate difficulty levels and something to work on speed. From there, she devised the idea of flying discs that shot out lasers. Was it ambitious? Maybe for the GP, but not for Bulma Briefs. "Yep, all like that. I'll just add to it later if I think of something else."

Kadab giggled, shaking their head. "It was a silly question, of course. Now then, why don't we form a plan of attack about building this thing?"

Another month passed before Jaco of all people reminded Bulma she could call home. The communicator connecting to phonelines on Earth had terrible sound, had Bulma known sooner it existed she would have fixed it up. Ironically, Yamcha told her, she had missed Krillin's birthday in October—not that they had done much to celebrate it besides training. They talked about her time in HQ, he mentioned that he watched the video Tights had made with a proud tone, she said her uniform was finally ready. It was all very pleasant and…normal in contrast to how busy and isolated from anything that mattered to her on Earth she felt. "I'll be home for Christmas, at least," she hummed, relieved to hear his voice even through a slightly tinny filter. "If I don't kill my teacher first. Or he doesn't kill me, that guy pulls no punches."

"Bulma…" Yamcha sighed. "From what you're saying, he _is_ pulling punches on you."

Though it chafed Bulma to hear, he was more experienced with martial arts than her. "So, then what should I do about it?"

"Fight back!" he insisted. "You're a Patroller, not a little kid, show him that!"

Her bruised ego swelled a little with hope and pride at his encouragement. Even after their time apart, he still believed in her! "Okay…I'll do it, then! I'll show him!" Bulma paused, tapping her fingers against the wall the communicator hung on. "Yamcha? When I get back…I need to talk to you about something."

She hadn't told anyone about Goku yet. Telling Yamcha first seemed more comfortable than just announcing it to everyone in a group.

"Uh…" He might have gulped in nervousness at what "something" could be. "O-okay…I'll see you at Christmas, then?"

"It's a date." She smiled, realizing that statement likely further confused her hapless boyfriend, then said her goodbyes. "All right," she muttered, thinking of her plan for training that day. "Yamcha said fight back…and I _have_ been working on my techniques."

First, however, she needed to consult with Kadab about something that had nagged at her since first arriving at HQ. The scouters Frieza's army employed still occupied her thoughts, the desire to take one apart and figure how it worked, make modifications to it, and create blueprints. Surely Kadab would support the idea and help her procure one.

"Absolutely not," Kadab snipped at her the moment she stepped foot into the tech room.

"How did you even know what I was going to ask?" she grumbled, crossing her arms in irritation at the preemptive refusal.

"I have my ways," they responded, staring beadily at Bulma. "And my answer is no, absolutely not. I will not allow you to even _approach_ one of Frieza's men, let alone steal one of their scouters."

"I wasn't going to steal it!" Bulma defended herself, resisting the urge to scrunch up her shoulders and pout. "I was going to—"

"To what?" Kadab asked sardonically, rolling their eyes. "Ask one nicely to give up his scouter, pretty please? Bulma, no amount of charisma would get you anything but seriously _hurt_ or worse by one of those barbarians. No living man would give you his scouter."

 _…Living, huh?_ Bulma thought but didn't say, skeptically raising an eyebrow at them. "Okay. So, I guess we couldn't ask Frieza himself, then?"

"That would be _worse_ than trying to speak to one of his men!" Kadab paled at the very idea, turning back to their workbench with a scoff. "Come now. Purge those irresponsible ideas and concentrate on your _work_ , dear."

Right, her work. She had some time to work on the gravity room before training with Tyber, Kadab was working off the blueprints she had made for the discbots and Bulma was perfecting the calibration. There was little more to be done until the room was ready for unveiling.

She wouldn't drop the idea of getting a scouter, despite the firm order and the clear danger of it. She just had to employ an extra amount of cleverness when dealing with that part. Kadab seemed to be watching her extra closely as Bulma worked, some measure of concern in their expression. _Can she read minds, too? Come on, can't anyone mind their own business around here?_

Kadab didn't comment if they _were_ able to hear the thoughts, they only turned away still with that expression of worry as they soldered some cables.

It was fine. It would be fine. Bulma would get a scouter herself. She could handle it, she was a genius.

 

* * *

 

Tyber was late for their training session.

It wasn't as though Bulma kept tabs on the routines of officers, she just observed and remembered as it went on around her. Tyber was always punctual with the schedule: train Bulma, train himself, go on missions, go home and possibly be normal. At least she assumed that was where he went after the shifts ended, some officers stayed in HQ overnight (as she was for her training) but she had never seen him do so. It would make more sense anyway to go home to his family.

 _I wonder if there was an emergency or something?_ she idly thought, not out of concern for him but for his family. He still hadn't shown her pictures, kept telling her "later" in that curt tone of his, she could read into the few things he said about his family despite that. Tyber's parents (well "parents"—they adopted him) were older, his grandmother was the elder among the "Herans" as he called them, his kids were in the ranges of ten to five. Maybe one of them got sick? If that was so, from what Bulma remembered about the people of Hera in the program (and it was very little as their planet was destroyed centuries ago) they were quite effective in making medicine. Should it really make him worry so much that he would be late?

 _Why in the world am I thinking about this?_ Her sense of pettiness arrived again to remind her that she had much more important things to worry about than people she had never met—herself. Fortunately, Bulma had a plan for the training session that day, she was going to show up Tyber and let him know she meant business. Just like Yamcha told her, fight back! She was a Patroller, too, not a punching bag to insult and throw around.

As if the scheming to wreak havoc and vengeance on the man summoned him, she perked up at the feeling of Tyber's ki signature coming towards the training room. He soon appeared in the doorway, scratching absently at the back of his head, tail swishing back and forth in a gesture Bulma was unsure of being irritation or anxiety. "I'm sorry," he began, retrieving his inhibitors from the cubbies on the wall and putting them on. "I had to take a call."

"Is everything okay?" she couldn't help asking, jumping to her feet from the meditative position she had been in. (All right, Bulma _could_ help it, but she wanted to know regardless.)

He mumbled something she couldn't hear in reply, decisively clicking on the small bracers. Whatever it was, he clearly didn't want to share as he only turned back to her and intoned ominously, "Bulma. You should worry more about yourself right now."

"You're saying I'm not?" Bulma snarked back with a grin. "I worry about myself just fine, I'm more worried about _you_ at this moment, Sensei."

The show of bravado, while not unusual for anybody that was close to Bulma on Earth, was quite foreign for Tyber. He raised his eyebrows at her, tilting his head to one side like a confused cat that didn't hear correctly. "Sensei?" he questioned first.

"Teacher," she answered, frowning in disapproval. "Seriously?"

"I haven't studied Earth nomenclature," he shot back, rolling his eyes. She did notice that his cheeks colored slightly—whether it was at being called "teacher" or being caught not knowing as much as he could she didn't wonder about. "We'll see how worried you should be when we're through."

As if to emphasize the statement, he removed the GP-issued jacket to show the white tank top underneath. It was a gesture of challenge, she learned over time, as Tyber wore weighted clothes on a near-constant basis as well. The action usually tended to distract her more than intimidate since her teacher was buff (not that Tyber noticed initial reactions of gawking until she got used to it) and had what looked like a tattoo just peeking out at the top of his shirt collar.

"You still haven't told me why you have a tattoo," Bulma pointed out rather than answering his intimidation tactic ( _whoopee, you can take your jacket off, good for you_ ). "They allow those in the GP?"

"It's _cultural_ ," he bit in an offended tone, pulling down the neckline of his shirt to show the top of, as she thought, a teal handprint tattoo positioned over where his heart rested. The handprint looked feminine, as if…

"Your wife's?" Bulma's question tackled two aspects at once: his wife's print and his wife's culture. There was never any mention of Saiyans having tattooing as a big part of their values, after all.

"When we were married." Tyber released the collar, shirt falling back into place, and assumed a fighting stance. "Now stop wasting my time with questions and let's get started."

She really, really wanted more answers to the queries that were stacking up in her mind. Herans marked one another with handprints in marriage? Did that mean Zurui had a similar print that was Tyber's hand? What color was hers, or was it the same? If it wasn't, did they color it by blood? He would brook no further questions, however, as he charged at her with a fierce punch. She skidded backwards, hands raised up and forming ki to block off the worst of the hit.

"Oh, you've learned how to block now," he taunted. "Good for you, you're delaying the inevitable much longer than I thought!"

" _Inevitable_?" Bulma snarled in reply, crouching down and darting past him to grab at his tail.

Something was wrong she found as soon as she reached, he wasn't moving to try and stop her, he wasn't even turning around to observe what she was doing. The tail practically fell into her hands for her to _squeeze_ down on. "Take that!" she crowed.

No reaction from Tyber. He turned back and cocked his head at her. "Was that your plan?" Tyber shook his head, tail whipping right out of her grip and smacking her away. "Such a weakness is for immature youths, I'm an adult."

Bulma would usually answer with a hearty "shut the hell up" or even blurt out something like "but that worked on Goku!"—it was difficult to do either of those things when she was slammed into a wall and trying to regain her balance. _God that hurt!_ How was something so thin and unassuming like his tail so _strong?_ It felt like she got hit by a truck. At least all the breath was knocked out of her for the moment. Bulma stumbled to her feet, trying to catch her breath. "Ughhh—is there seriously no way to beat you?!"

"You can't, just give up and go home." He strode over to her, arms crossed, sneering. "You've kept up this charade long enough, there's no room on the Patrol for spoiled thrill-seeking brats."

Something in her snapped at hearing that. Tyber usually insulted her during the training sessions, she was used to that, it was the first time he had ever mentioned anything about _charades_ or the implication that she was thrill-seeking. She thought of Yamcha telling her to fight back, that he was proud of her for wanting to help people. She thought of her family supporting her decisions no matter how outlandish they seemed. She thought of everyone on the Patrol who had been so _kind_ and accepting of her, except _him_. A stupid, proud warrior that didn't have any confidence in her. Bulma gathered her ki and channeled as much volts into it as she was able, glaring fiercely. "I…"

Tyber stopped his advance, contemptuous expression unchanging but waiting for what she would do next nonetheless.

"I'M A PATROLLER, TOO!" she screamed, electric ki surging out at him in a crashing wave.

The reaction was immediate: Tyber thrown against the adjacent wall, sinking to the floor twitching involuntarily, hair and tail now a total mess from the static. It was a glorious image, it didn't even occur to Bulma that generally electrocuting someone was fatal.

"So, just—" Bulma stood tall, hands planted firmly on her hips. "Deal with it!"

It took a long moment of Tyber not responding for her to realize just what exactly she had done. Her satisfied expression fell as she noticed he wasn't getting up. "Tyber? Oh god…Tyber, are you okay?!" She might have been annoyed with how cold he was, but she didn't want to kill him! How was she going to explain this to the others? To his family, even—

He sprung up jerkily before her panic could intensify, body moving strangely as though magnetized and fighting against something invisible. He didn't move to attack again, however, he stared at her for a long moment.

Then Tyber smiled.

_Oh my god…he **does** smile!_

The appearance seemed so bright and natural with him, one likely wouldn't realize he didn't usually do it—at least not as far as Bulma had seen.

"Good," he said, nodding approvingly. "Now that's real progress."

Tyber smiled at her! And he praised her! Bulma felt she might burst into confetti and sparkles. Hell—at that rate she felt like running up to Tyber and hugging him. It was only his follow-up statement that kept her from doing so, "You might be ready for gravity training sooner than expected."

Her shoulders slumped, all joy and excitement at the praise draining out of her. "Seriously?!" she whined. "Haven't I done enough already?!"

She expected him to frown again and say something scathing, he only chuckled ( _holy crap, he **laughs** too?!_ ). "Let me show you, take off your jacket."

Though it was a weird request, Bulma shed the weighted jacket without questioning or protest nonetheless, the thud it made when it crashed to the floor created small tremors unnoticed by either of them. Before she could ask what in the world he was asking her to do that for, he shot out a barrage of small ki blasts at her. Without thinking, Bulma weaved fluidly through the assault and ended up directly in her teacher's face. "What was _that_ for?!" she complained before realizing what just happened. "Wait…" She looked from him to her feet immediately, as if uncertain that they actually carried her as quickly as they did just then.

Did she really do that? Did _Bulma Briefs_ , known for being only incidentally faster than the likes of Oolong and Turtle, just fly through a field of attack without a single blast grazing her?

His expression turned knowing as realization dawned over her. "See? Now don't you want to work on being _better_ than that?"

"Hell yeah, I do!" she burst, bouncing up and down in excitement.

"Figured you would." Tyber's tone was gentle, he reached down and ruffled her hair affectionately. "You whine a lot, but your dedication can't be denied."

Bulma only answered with jumping up and hugging him furiously around his neck. "You're the best, Tyber!"

"Ah…please…let go," he stammered, flushing from his face all the way to his ears.

She wasn't sure if it was because he was awkward or because her grip was strangling. She didn't very much care, her progress couldn't be denied, _she_ couldn't be denied. Even the crotchety old man of the group was proud of her, Bulma could fly higher and faster than any ship in the universe with the confidence and pride that grew in that moment.

 

* * *

 

"It still doesn't look all that fashionable," Bulma commented to herself as she looked at her uniform in the mirror.

"Bulma, this isn't for fashion," Tahaya retorted, standing against the door with her arms crossed. "You look fine!"

Exactly like her draft envisioned, with some more refined adjustments by the Oruians, Bulma's uniform set her far apart from other officers. The neckline lowered to the top of her collarbone on the chest armor and the protrusion of the shoulders reduced made for a more flattering silhouette while the belt cinched at her waist and the skirt-like extension made her feel more covered. It was a good thing, too, the bodysuit _clung_ quite snugly to her body barely feeling like it was there, she couldn't imagine going around essentially feeling like she wasn't wearing anything down below. She could only tell she _was_ wearing something by the dark blue color of the fabric. It wasn't fashionable by any means, but it functioned how it was supposed to, and it was comfortable for Bulma, it had to do.

"Yeah, yeah," she muttered, pulling on her gloves and holstering her gun. "I still can't stand these stupid radio transmitters, though. Do I really have to wear them?" She frowned dubiously at the circular objects meant to go over her ears like headphones without a frame. Not for the first time, she mentally groused that the scouters would be more functional for the purpose the transmitters served, not to mention the benefit of picking out lifeforms.

"Girl, I have pointed ears," Tahaya pointed out her own transmitters on her ears as she spoke. "If _I_ have to and don't complain about it, so do you." She resumed her posture of crossing her arms and tapped her foot impatiently. "Come on, now, we gotta go!"

Though Bulma wouldn't cease her grumblings about the transmitters, she put them on nonetheless and they left for the ship to take off on her first mission.

Finally, the week before she was to go back to Earth for holiday leave she had an assignment; a dive bar on one of the Frieza-owned territories was experiencing a ruckus from some unusual aliens.

"From what we can tell from the call and initial reports," Tahaya explained as Bulma started up the ship and punched in the coordinates. "The troublemakers are from Earth like you are. I guess the higher-ups figured one Earthling can more properly deal with other Earthlings."

The "one Earthling" pursed her lips in thought, coasting the ship leisurely along the path to the planet. "From Earth, huh…weird, even my dad's fastest ship couldn't possibly carry someone out this far in the time of a human's lifespan."

"Are there only humans on Earth?" she pointed out, leaning forward onto the pilot chair. "Isn't your king an actual canine?"

"They still live as long as humans do!" Bulma replied, turning her head up for the moment to look at Tahaya seriously. "No matter if it's a sentient animal or a human, their lifespan couldn't possibly—"

Tahaya reached down and turned Bulma's head back to the windshield, where she realized a rather large rock was headed towards them. She jerked the wheel up, causing the ship to dive abruptly out of the way of the object. "Hey, Genius, how about let's not end up space dust," Tahaya sarcastically requested.

Bulma grumbled the rest of the way but steered them to the planet without another incident. As expected for a planet owned by Frieza, it was a dreary place with installations of towers and technical-looking buildings, presumably where the soldiers worked. The bar lay out in the middle of a dusty desert-like area, a feebly blinking neon sign in some other language the only thing setting it apart from the muted color scheme of the rest of the environment.

"Hey, Bubu, should we ask if you're even old enough to go in?" Tahaya teased, poking Bulma at the door.

"Cut it out!" she groaned, shoving her fellow officer back. (It didn't affect Tahaya as much.) "Let's just get these guys in cuffs and go, this place smells."

"You're right about that," she commented, pushing open the door to show a dimly-lighted environment obscured by smoke within. "Galactic Patrol!" Tahaya called into the room. "Everybody stay still!"

The aliens that looked back at them seemed unimpressed by the arrival of the officers, some wore the armor of Frieza's army while some wore eclectically tailored outfits. Rather than causing a fuss, the patrons collectively turned back to their drinks while the bartender mutely pointed to the back where three figures were surrounding a table and laughing about something. Carrots scattered about the floor.

 _Wait. Carrots?_ Bulma's eyes went immediately to the root vegetables. _From Earth…no, it couldn't be._

"Look, buddy, I'm giving you 'til the count of five to turn my drink back," a rough, unfamiliar voice spoke from behind the living barricade of hooligans. "I didn't come here on my break to have carrot juice."

The smallest figure, standing in the middle of the others, laughed in an obnoxiously high pitch. It was a large, bipedal rabbit with white fur wearing ornate clothing.

"Monster Carrot!" Bulma shouted in reaction to a viscerally _horrible_ memory coming back to her.

The Rabbit Gang, as that was who they were, turned back to whoever called them out, expressions of surprise visible even behind their shaded eyes. "Who's that?" The rabbit boss squinted through the gloom to see who was addressing him.

With them turned away from the people they were harassing, Bulma noticed that the figures were rather _large_. She wasn't sure if it was good they arrived before the Rabbit Gang was outright killed by the obviously more powerful aliens or bad since it would be what they deserved, but she could take a closer look at the bystanders later.

"You know these guys, Bulma?" Tahaya asked, eyes widening.

"Yeah," she grunted back, immediately taking out her gun. "We've met."

"Ohhh, it's the pretty little miss from the desert," the tallest of the gang commented, a wicked, broad smile coming to his face. "You've grown haven't you, yes, no?"

"But she hasn't learned her lesson from last time!" the portly one guffawed. "Hey, where's the monkey-brat that was with you? Aren't you gonna call him for help now?"

"Nope." Bulma gestured to the two of them. "Tahaya, you take these idiots, the one in the middle is mine."

Though Tahaya was mystified as to why Bulma was suddenly so angry, she took a step forward and casually took the two's heads in her hands, slamming them together and throwing them over her shoulders. "Okay, just call me if you need me," she said, turning away to properly cuff them.

With the cronies away from Monster Carrot, he looked slightly nervous and Bulma was able to see the two aliens much more clearly. They were Frieza's men, certainly, large and humanoid. One was bald while the other had a _long_ mane of spiky black hair that probably touched the floor. They weren't wearing their scouters, so she could see the narrowed black eyes more clearly. The bald one was obviously older, with a crooked nose and a handlebar mustache. The incredibly hairy one, at first glance, struck her as familiar for some reason.

_Never mind._

"Well, well, well," Monster Carrot snickered, assuming that without the larger officer around he was back to having the advantage. "Your friend is impressive, little missy, but without your monkey-boy how exactly are you going to stop me?" He reached out his hand, an insincere smile on his face. "Can't we just shake hands and settle this like civilized people instead?"

The men behind him gave an odd look to his back. Bulma wasn't sure if it was because he referenced a "monkey-boy" and they were likely Saiyans themselves or because he was suddenly so complacent. A returning smile curved across Bulma's lips pleasantly, sparking her free hand with ki as she reached it out to him. "Of course," she giggled back, feigning ignorance at what he _thought_ was about to happen. "There's no need for things to get out of control."

The electric wave went unnoticed by Monster Carrot as he went to take her hand, shocked metaphorically and literally by the ki trap she had laid. His fur frizzed out and singed slightly, smoke coming out of his ears and a shriek wrenching from his mouth. Bulma's smile turned into a toothy, sadistic grin when he collapsed to the floor twitching like mad. Before he could attempt to compose himself, she pressed the weapon to the top of his head.

"So, are you going to reverse your spell now?" she purred, flipping a switch on the grip. "Or should I test how powerful my 'kill' setting is?"

A choking nose was her only answer at first until he held up his hands in defeat, whimpering to please have mercy he would do it right away. "I'm s-s-sorry, mistress—" he wobbled pathetically.

"Well, you heard the big guy," Bulma relented as she took her gun away. "Five seconds, counting down now."

Another choking noise, as if he wasn't electrocuted Monster Carrot sprang to his feet and reversed his spell—carrots turning back into people. He limply held out his wrists to her then with a snivel. "T-take me away."

"Gladly," she jeered, slapping his outstretched wrists with the power-dampening handcuffs. "Now _move_."

Bulma kept her eyes on Monster Carrot as he bobbed away to join his men and Tahaya, the booming laughter and clapping behind her startled the Earthling enough to turn back and check what happened. The bald probably-a-Saiyan was hooting and hollering, saying something about a companion of theirs that was missing a great show while the (only somewhat) smaller probably-a-Saiyan looked between his companion and Bulma in alarm. On the second glance, their eyes met and stayed for a moment, Bulma squinted—now the nagging feeling that the man was familiar _really_ bothered her. _I've definitely seen him before. Where? When?_

"Bulma!" Tahaya called from the doorway, fielding the thank-yous and praises from patrons and the bartender at the same time. "Let's get these creeps out of here and head back to base!"

"Coming!" She turned on her heel and ran back to her friend, deciding that the familiar feeling was nothing and she should put it out of her head.

 

* * *

 

"Thanks, Officer!" Nappa called to the retreating form of the female that took out the annoying alien. "S'definitely not carrot juice anymore!" He jabbed at Raditz with a grin in the dim light, broken up only with the door opening to let in outside light and shutting again. "That was hilarious, huh? I can't believe Vegeta decided to take a nap instead of seeing this."

Raditz, lost in thought, only stared at the door that the officers left through. Who was that girl? Why did she look at him with recognition? The way she so violently handled that creature, while he could appreciate it from a Saiyan viewpoint, pinged at something in his memories uncomfortably. _Have we met before? If we did, why didn't I kill her?_

" _Hey_ ," Nappa grunted, elbowing Raditz harder. "What's with you? I know she was cute, but you don't need to space out."

"Huh?" He shook himself out of his thoughts, an aghast look was all he had to show for a reply. "No! No, no, no, that's not it at all." Not like any of them had much time for women besides Nappa going off on pleasure breaks, but if Raditz _did_ he certainly wouldn't have an interest in an overly domineering woman like that. Someone like that would only be trouble. "I was just…thinking."

"I dunno, she seemed interested in you," Nappa mused, taking a swig of his restored drink. "Or maybe—you guys met before? Looked like she knew you."

"That's what I'm wondering," he agreed with a nod. "I can't quite put my finger on it, but something's familiar about her."

Nappa rumbled in consideration, then drained the rest of his drink and stood, clapping Raditz firmly on the shoulder. "Anyway, we should get back to Vegeta before he wakes up. Don't wanna keep him waiting, right?"

Raditz shuddered, not at the gesture by him but at the statement. "Of course not."

As if to compound how strange the evening was, Vegeta stomped through the bar door at the tail end of "not." He looked like he was in a foul mood as always, tail fur bristling, almost unwound to lash behind him impatiently.

"Who the hell screamed in here?" he growled. "I could hear it all the way across the planet!"

Oh, great. Raditz's shoulders slumped—sleeping beauty woke up and boy was he upset. Nappa, in contrast, greeted Vegeta with a wave and pushed his way over to him past Raditz, blathering about the "show" he just missed. He stood apart from the two "elites" for the moment, trying desperately to latch onto _what_ memory was nagging at him about a woman that looked and acted like that officer.

_No, not a woman, a girl. She was a little girl. She shot me!_

His tail fur prickled in realization and dread. That couldn't be possible, could it? How the hell did that Earthling not only _survive_ his brother's conquest but make it all the way out into the Galactic Patrol? He wanted to rationalize it away, but Nappa reached out and pulled him back into their usual formation of standing at either side of Vegeta as they walked out of the bar and back to their ships.

"…Yeah, and she was pretty, too," he was saying as Raditz tuned back into whatever he was telling Vegeta. "Almost looked like a Saiyan woman, you know? Not 'almost but purple skin' or 'almost but horns for boobs'—almost like a Saiyan. 'Cept her hair and eye color was off, blue?" Nappa thought about it for a moment. "They were blue, weren't they Raditz?"

At being addressed again, he jolted, but nonetheless mumbled affirmative. It was strange how Nappa talked to him so casually while at the same time regarding Raditz as lesser. Rank still mattered very much to the two more powerful Saiyans, though the oldest prioritized playing the part less and treated him with minimal disdain compared to how Vegeta treated him. Then again, it was easy to be nicer to someone than Vegeta, all one had to do was everything opposite to the haughty prince. "Blue hair, blue eyes, yeah." He really didn't want to think of those eyes, though—those terrifying eyes looking down on her victim with anticipation of a kill.

 _"Leave, alien scum!"_ a memory of a little girl with those same eyes echoed at him, pointing a gun. Why oh why had he and Vegeta gone to Earth that day? It was such a stupid thing to do, but he _needed_ to find Kakarot, and—

"You like blue, don't you Vegeta? You'd like her."

"Vegeta doesn't like anything," Raditz cut in on impulse. "Nothing but destruction and suffering."

It sounded like Raditz was denigrating him, but he was merely stating fact. Vegeta agreed anyway, giving Nappa a peculiar look about—once again—trying to set him up with a woman. He genuinely never expressed interest in what Nappa called "the finer things" of life; Frieza kept the closest watch on _him_ anyway, as if he could even approach a woman without killing her and not expect Frieza to do so himself out of spite. Regardless, even if all three of them knew that, the youngest Saiyans were nineteen to Nappa's 41, and he _frequently_ reminded them of their lack of experience in comparison to him. He was lucky he was strong, too, or else Vegeta might have killed him out of irritation at the teasing.

"Forget the stupid Patrollers," Vegeta snorted. "Usually they avoid interacting with us at all, remember?"

Nappa assented and changed the topic to whatever assignment they were going to be put on next. Raditz stared up into the sky thoughtfully as they walked. Should he ask Vegeta if he remembered? What good would come from reminding him of the humiliation of being chased off by a puny girl with an absurdly powerful gun? At best he'd just tell him to shut up, at worst he might seriously injure him for impudence.

"Hey, Raditz?" Nappa leaned over into his field of vision, causing him to pause his stride. "What's the matter with you?" After a moment, he came to his own conclusion: "Oh, right! Miss Feisty seemed to recognize Raditz, Vegeta. They kind of gave each other a real significant look." He pushed Raditz playfully. "You might have a rival, eh?"

Raditz opened his mouth to say shut up, then closed it when he realized talking to a superior that way was a terrible idea. Instead he ventured, "Vegeta? Do you remember when we went to look for Kakarot?"

"I've told you I don't want to hear any more about your stupid brother, Raditz!" Vegeta grunted, kicking open his pod once they reached them. "Let's get back to base already, I'm tired of hearing you idiots babble nonsense!"

"Right…sorry." _I guess he doesn't remember after all_.

Too bad, part of him ardently wished to see that girl be put in her place for her defiance. That would teach her to go against Saiyans, even if they _were_ children at the time. Assuming the officer and that girl were even the same person, at any rate, it could have just been a coincidence.

 _…It has to be a coincidence_ , he thought becoming annoyed with himself for obsessing on the topic. _There's **no way** that girl could have survived after Kakarot's conquest. She's dead. Really dead. Don't think about it anymore, you fool._

The conclusion lulled him to sleep as their pods took off. _Nothing_ like what he was theorizing happened in anything outside of the cheesy dramatic plays Nappa enjoyed watching, it was just a coincidence. He wouldn't think about it any longer.

_…But she looked at me like she **knew** me. And what was that thing saying about a 'monkey-boy'? If they were from Earth…what happened to Kakarot…?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up shorter than the others this time, but hey we're making some progress! Next chapter...is the Christmas in July update I guess?? Okay then.


	8. Uncharted Territory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.
> 
> I see you folks leaving kudos and responding positively to this silly little AU I made, thanks, y'all rock!

"Aaaand that's your first mission complete!" Tahaya cheered once Bulma had shut the door to the holding facility (the fearful faces of the Rabbit Gang still staring at her as she did, probably hoping she wasn't going to hit any of them again). "The paper pushers and stationary officers will take the garbage from here. How ya feelin'?" She beamed in approval at Bulma, hands on her hips, all positivity and warmth.

Bulma, in contrast, coolly turned from the door with a dismissive flip of her hair. "I feel great." She really did, the intense satisfaction at the horrible screams made by Monster Carrot still sang in her heart. "I didn't know the moon getting destroyed would launch those hoodlums back into my path, but revenge sure is sweet."

"Ohhh, _revenge_!" Tahaya chortled, leaning down to be at her level as they proceeded back to the main lobby. "You _knew_ that guy, Bulma?"

With her mind wandering to what the trip back was going to be like, Bulma thought for a horrifying second Tahaya meant the Saiyan she exchanged looks with. She exhaled a breath and her heartbeat slowed when she realized it was Monster Carrot Tahaya was referring to. "Yep, they caused trouble back on my planet, too," she chuffed derisively. "The Rabbit Gang, Monster Carrot, they're real dirtbags—and perverts, too." Them being perverts was the most offensive part, especially considering they made passes at her when she was sixteen. People talking down to her, treating her like she was nothing more than a cute little girl to coo at—

The boy with absurdly long hair had patted her on the head, smiling (mockingly or genially she didn't care to analyze), saying something like she should go play with her toy ( _not a toy! A gun!_ ) somewhere else. That was when she shot him, the powerful blast sending him flying while another stared at her in shock and fright. —

— _They had tails. They were dressed like Frieza's men. They were looking for someone?_

—"Bulma?"  Tahaya's voice shook her back to reality out of memories of the past.

She didn't immediately perk back up, however, a frown pressed deeply into her usually soft features. Bulma's gaze ticked around, just to be sure nobody else was with them in the docking station. Once satisfied that they were the only living beings there, she pulled herself up into the ship and settled into the pilot's chair. "Taya…" she began as Tahaya took her place in the second chair. It was a testing, insecure tone, both about the use of a relatively new addressing and what she was about to confess. "…That guy turned me into a carrot."

For a long moment, she didn't react, gaping at her with eyes wide. Then all at once she let out a bark of laughter, leaning over on the arm of her chair to support herself.

Even though it was at her expense and between gasps Tahaya mentioned she was worried it was something _serious_ , Bulma smiled faintly. Whatever happened when she was—

"You made that yourself?" the one whose hair stood up like a flame ( _looks stupid, like if he had red hair his head would be on fire_ ) stammered at her. "How…how old are you?"

"Five," she replied simply, ready to shoot the second boy but staying her wrath for the moment since he was only talking (and, better yet, not touching her or smiling condescendingly). —

_Five? Then that was summer, wasn't it? Almost my birthday…and Jaco had been and gone already…—_

"Five?! You made _that_ ," he jabbed at the mess of debris that had been left in the wake of her shot. "And you're _five_?!" He jumped back, holding his hands up in front of him and shaking like a leaf, face wobbling almost as if he was about to cry out of fear. He whimpered something about the army on Earth assuredly being insanely powerful in that case, but Bulma didn't get to say anything in return before he tore off, grabbing the other boy by the hair and flying away from whence they came. Whoever they were looking for, apparently, would be left to deal with the "army" by himself. Bulma didn't care, she only smiled victoriously having successfully defended her planet from bad aliens invading. —

 _Stop it._ She had to forget about that memory, it was irrelevant, impossible, _nothing_ happened like that outside of the cheesy TV soaps her mom watched. That man couldn't have been the boy she shot. If it _was_ him, then where was the other one? The bald man certainly wasn't him, too old—the boys both at the time looked no older than six or seven. Not only that, if it _was_ the case and he managed to connect the dots himself…she would be in trouble, wouldn't she? A childhood nuisance growing up into the scourge of the galaxy, and she shot him in the face. Bulma wouldn't put it past anybody, especially not a warrior type alien like a Saiyan, to be petty enough to seek revenge for what was practically a schoolyard scuffle. _She_ certainly would.

 _Well then, I'll just have to set my gun on obliterate,_ Bulma thought with some irony as she mechanically went through the motions of flying the ship back to HQ's docking port in a daze. _And what happened to the other boy, after all that…?_ No, she scowled, she couldn't start going down _that_ path. What good would come of it? Everything in the universe was warning her in plain words to stay _far_ away from Frieza's army, _especially_ the Saiyans in Frieza's army.

Tahaya, for her part, did not question Bulma's taut silence. At least not for the first stretch of their flight, as they approached HQ she reached out a heavy hand and placed it onto Bulma's shoulder. She stared down solemnly as Bulma looked up in surprise. "If it's anything you want to talk about," Tahaya began, voice dropping to a lower register as if there was a chance of them being overheard. "If you're comfortable talking about it, I'm here."

The fond expression of gratitude Bulma gave her in return reflected a little of the weariness felt at what was being reflected upon. Nonetheless, she shook her head, insisting she was fine but thanks for the concern. She really meant it, too. She truly appreciated the friends she had made in the Patrol—even Tyber, whom she initially disliked, was becoming more of a comforting figure day by day. She _couldn't_ share the burden of her secret exactly because of that. _If_ the Saiyans that served Frieza now were the two she chased off Earth when they were kids, _if_ they somehow remembered as well—she had to shoulder that herself. Bulma could vividly imagine the outrage, the worry that she was now a target. She couldn't visualize the aftermath, despite that. Would they declare her a burden and eject her from the Patrol? Would they accuse her of scheming with the Saiyans? A shiver accompanied by the ship docking in the hangar overcame her, Bulma felt…very alone, not for the first time. She could _not_ share the secret of Goku's survival on Earth with her comrades, she absolutely couldn't mention that she _might_ have shot one of Frieza's men when they were children. Bulma would be some sort of pariah with the stink of Saiyan all over her.

It wasn't fair, she huffed to herself, drifting vaguely back to her capsule house she had set up in one of the larger emptier parts of HQ (naturally, Bulma Briefs would _not_ content herself with the standard quarters, the King agreed fearing her wrath). Tahaya was still looking at her with worry, especially after she declined the invitation to go relax in the hot spring. It just wasn't fair, she grumbled to herself again, being on the Patrol was supposed to be an exciting adventure, not harrowing and full of dangers.

Then again, something about the added anxiety and threats skipped electrically along her nerve endings. Something in the unknown was _exhilarating_ and she wasn't sure whether to run away or give an inviting wink to the chasm of uncertainty. "If they're gonna come after me," Bulma declared to her empty room as she shed her uniform. "Let them. I'll just have to make them cry again."

 _Nobody_ made Bulma Briefs feel how she didn't want to feel, nobody controlled her, nothing went without her permission.

 

* * *

 

Raditz, for a Saiyan, tended towards thinking about little things frequently. It worked to his advantage at times, if he couldn't brute force his way through a situation, he could manipulate things to reverse it in his favor. _He_ understood feelings and how to exploit them even though Saiyans devoted less thought to feelings besides fear, hate, and anger. He got it from his mother, his father always said, they were very similar—talked too much, preoccupied with feelings…sentimental.

No, he insisted to himself as usual, Raditz was a _Saiyan_. He wasn't sentimental—that was exclusive to his mother and she preferred the caregiving role rather than fighting, which was fine for the third class Saiyans. Unlike the elites, the lower class recognized that there needed to be people who knew first aid, could prepare food, and would monitor the incubation tanks. Gine slotted into that role perfectly, she was a wonderful Saiyan woman complementary to Raditz's father—the peak Saiyan man whose noble side revealed itself in small glimmers. Every Saiyan in the third class admired Bardock. He wasn't a feeling type like his wife was (though it was a rarity that someone in his station deigned to wed, implying there was _some_ feeling at least); he did his work, he checked on Raditz and his infant brother from time to time (moments still treasured), he was…tender, almost, to Gine. But only to her, the rest he held at a stubborn distance and spoke in harsh, sarcastic bites.

…What would his mother think if she saw Raditz as he currently stood? Frieza's slave, ever the subordinate to Vegeta (something that persisted since they were young).

 _"Your father says you should stay away from the planet for now,"_ his mother's last message to him insisted. _"We sent Kakarot to another planet. It's called Earth, please please please remember that. If he's wrong about his feeling, then we'll come back for you two immediately! If not…"_ Bardock said something in the background teasing Gine as usual for being sentimental. _"Oh, stop it! If you don't like it, talk to your son!"_ He declined. Bardock wasn't much for heart to hearts. _"Raditz…if something **does** happen to us, please look after Kakarot, okay?"_

Now his father added, _"After me, you're the man of the house. Take care, Raditz. Take care of yourself and Kakarot."_

 _"Watch out for the Galactic Patrol!"_   Gine's voice turned soft, regretful, _"Be safe…be good. I love you."_

Not for the first time, ever since he was a child and the news of planet Vegeta's destruction, Raditz replayed the message on his scouter over and over in the privacy of his room.

_"Be good. I love you."_

She was the only Saiyan who ever spoke words like "love" and meant it. She was the only person who told Raditz that she cared for him and he believed truly, deeply, painfully. "Mother…" Regret laced his tone and sank into his very soul, but not for the fact that he couldn't be "good," nor for the civilizations he destroyed, the people he killed. Being "good" was not a concept in Frieza's army, disobedience or lenience would lead to execution. So Raditz prioritized survival over his mother's secondary wish. _His_ survival and his alone—until he could find Kakarot. Then a new responsibility would come, what would Kakarot be like at…fifteen? Yes, he was fifteen now. Or close to it. Somewhere in that range. It didn't matter, Kakarot would be found and he'd take his rightful place—at Raditz's side as Saiyan brothers facing the universe like their parents wished.

Perhaps Gine didn't intend for them to bond via desolation, but that was the name of the game living as Frieza's dog.

_"Be good. I love you."_

Bah, what was he doing, skulking about in his quarters, listening to the voices of ghosts. He pushed himself up on his bed, resting on his elbows to consider the door. Should he find Nappa? Nappa was surprisingly amenable to hearing his "incessant babbling" as Bardock teasingly called it, sometimes he even offered decent commentary or advice. (Mostly he made fun of him.)

Vegeta, following the incident with The Girl, would hear no more of Kakarot or Raditz's concerns. At the time he seemed convinced she was part of an elite army on Earth and behind her waited more vicious prepubescent monsters with guns. It was Kakarot's problem to deal with. After the terror wore off and some time passed, Raditz noticed that the prince began to fester resentment over the degrading encounter and push it out of his mind. One day, any mention of Earth drew nothing more than a blank stare and a scoff as if he had never heard of such a backwater planet. Nappa was unaware of their little trip to the blue planet, or why Raditz came back singed and Vegeta sweating bullets.

As much as Raditz still wished to deny that The Girl _was_ alive (not only that, a Patroller!) the scene he had witnessed days before sat heavily in his mind and refused to leave. The three nuisances arrested that day _recognized_ the woman, leered at her lasciviously and implied a past encounter that incited anger in her, referenced her "monkey-boy"—

He had approached the small girl that demanded they leave, not with intent to threaten her, but with good humor. He smiled, he patted her on the head, and told her to run along now. After all, they would be gone once they found Kakarot. She wasn't a risk, surely, she barely came up to his chin and had a toy gun. Such a strange, pale little thing with big blue eyes and bright blue hair in _pigtails_ of all things. It was almost _cute_ though Saiyans generally didn't regard things as cute.

Her eyes narrowed, a look of fury and incredulity similar to how that woman looked at the thing turning every damn person into carrots. Next thing he knew, a great energy blast engulfed him, and he blacked out—the last thing he saw were _those eyes_ staring at him with fiery contempt. He awoke to Vegeta dragging him away, gibbering in panic about Earth's army employing prodigy five year olds with powerful guns. —

— _Kakarot. Monkey-boy. **Her** monkey-boy._

"She _is_ the girl!" Raditz boomed, springing up from his bed and bolting down the hall to find Nappa and Vegeta. _She **is** the girl, and she knows Kakarot!_ His frantic thoughts raced as he pushed past faceless goons in the hall that squeaked out ineffectual protests at his lack of attention. He paid them no mind, their squalls were white noise in his ears as he thought and thought and thought about _what_ happened to Kakarot after _The Girl_.

 _What if she has Kakarot enslaved?!_ A dismaying notion came to him then. _What if she threatened him with her violence and now he's her prisoner?!_ The revolting images of his helpless brother under the heel of that sadistic woman haunted him until another hesitant consideration slowed his pace, coming to a stop at the mess hall. "Actually," he mused. "He's a Saiyan, he'd probably enjoy that." Just because _Raditz_ wouldn't pick an overbearing woman to be his (reminded him too much of how he was treated usually) it didn't change the fact that Saiyan men were hardwired to enjoy strong-willed partners. Just more ways he was strange, he supposed, as his mind drew questioning lines between Kakarot and the woman— _his_ woman? After the incident with him and Vegeta, did she encounter Kakarot and defeat him, too? It would certainly explain why they were together, if a certain myth was to be believed. It was an old wives' tale that he held no stock in, but allegedly in Saiyan culture the bond created from one toppling the other was unmistakable, destined, their fates were intertwined forever.

…So that was why he ended up encountering the woman again? But he didn't feel _attraction_ or any sort of joy at being able to possibly battle her a second time, he felt furious and slightly intimidated.

Besides, if she was Kakarot's, that would be inappropriate to speculate on. While it bothered him that his baby brother got a woman before him, the elder, he had every right to do what he wished with the Earthlings that survived his instinct for destruction.

 _Even though…our parents didn't send him there for conquest._ Would it be better to tell Kakarot the truth or say it was for conquest when they met again? No matter what he chose to say, Raditz burned with renewed determination to track him down—that _awful woman_ was the key!

"Hey, Raditz?" Nappa's voice called him back to reality, where he found him eating with Vegeta sat at his side. "Something wrong? Your face is all red."

His face _was_ flushed, he was panting, his heart was racing—not from running all the way there, of course, he was in peak physical condition. Despite how foolish he looked, Raditz took a deep breath to compose himself. _All right, calm down, don't say something stupid._ "That woman is keeping Kakarot prisoner!!" he yowled, eyes practically bulging out of his head and fists clenched. _…You idiot._

Nappa and Vegeta stared back at him, levels of confusion and disgust coloring their expressions.

"Are you seriously on about your brother _again_?" Vegeta snorted, giving him a scathing look. He stood up then, slamming his hands on the table as if to show how ridiculous he thought the whole situation was and he wouldn't tolerate it.

Nappa, in contrast, looked between the two contemplatively as he chewed. "The feisty one?" he frankly asked, taking another bite. "What makes you say that?"

"The feisty one" was what Nappa called the woman, the name and reference meant nothing to Vegeta which he further emphasized with a growl and pointedly striding past Raditz positively oozing hostility.

"I'm _sure_ of it, she has to be from Earth!" Raditz breathed, shoulders dropping in understated relief that Vegeta had left. He couldn't hear _anything_ , in Raditz's vivid and paranoid thinking his most royal pain in the ass would track her down and murder the woman, further ruining any chance of finding Kakarot. He always had to ruin everything, always and always!

On the other hand, Raditz _could_ have gone to Earth himself without telling anyone…except that sounded like a terrible idea. What if—indeed—Vegeta was right and Earth's soldiers were outfitted with loads of powerful guns created by that frightening woman? He wanted to find his brother, sure, but he enjoyed being _alive_ much more than that. "…I'm going to tell you something that happened to Vegeta and me when we were children," he began seriously, sitting across from Nappa to look him in the eyes. "Vegeta can _not_ know I told you this, understand? I'm asking this to please stay between us." He hated that even for Nappa he had to couch his demands in politeness. Saiyans didn't do polite.

"All right…" Nappa's eyebrows ticked up another level in "weird shit Nappa had to contend with raising two Saiyan teens by himself (and Saiyans _did not_ do raising of their young)." He looked attentive though, letting Raditz launch into the whole miserable tale about the trip to Earth freely. In all fairness to Nappa, he held back his belly laughs at least until the story was finished. When he did, however, the whole table shook with his snorts and relentless beating of the surface with his fist. "She _shot_ you!" he gasped, a fine crack now running up the center of the unfortunate fixture. "She _trounced_ you two!"

Raditz raised an eyebrow at the assertion and corrected him, "No, no. She defeated _me_." His tone was careful (even if that was also _not_ a thing Saiyans did), hoping Nappa wouldn't take it as a questioning of his intelligence. "Vegeta retreated." A tactical retreat, he called it.

"Vegeta doesn't _retreat_ ," he insisted. " _You_ may, but Vegeta _doesn't_. And why, per chance, did he not regroup and set the balance back in his favor? Just because a gun was enough to blow _you_ away, even when you were kids, doesn't mean _Vegeta_ couldn't handle that."

Realization, stark, horrible, _awful_ realization dawned over Raditz—yes, what was being said was true, and Vegeta _was_ the strongest of them. He was the _prince_ , a battle genius, a no-mercy-allowed warrior without a scrap of sentiment. He couldn't be defeated by a puny Earth girl, they were children, surely that didn't count!

"He was humiliated, forced to retreat, scared out of his wits—hell, I remember that day, I'm pretty sure he was on the brink of pissing himself!" Nappa slapped his palm on the table a final time to punctuate his point (amazingly the thing _didn't_ finally succumb to the abuse). "That spells defeat to me."

It should have been amusing to them that their arrogant prince had been bested, that he had expressed fear of someone _besides_ Frieza. It wasn't. For all of him being difficult to handle, the two still respected and were loyal to him (with a healthy dose of fear). Neither of them had any idea what it implied and where it would take them, knowing _someone_ out there bested Vegeta, someone with no battle power to speak of, just a gun and a thirst to _destroy_.

"That…alien…" Raditz finally said, roiling _feelings_ having an all-out brawl in his stomach. "Mentioned a 'monkey-boy'…my parents sent Kakarot away as a baby. It…I can't deny that, ridiculous as it sounds, it might be more than a coincidence."

"I'll say," Nappa mused, a considering grin coming to his face as he rubbed his chin. "It sounds like this play I saw last week before we went to the bar—I think it was called 'The Monkey King and I'—"

"Nappa." Raditz rested his elbows on the table, staring at him with all the good humor of a mortician. "You have to understand, I am not emotionally invested in your plays by any stretch of the imagination."

"It's _art_ ," he retorted in displeasure. "You can't properly appreciate the joy of heckling a theater show because you're lower class."

"Yeah, sure, that's exactly why." He didn't think it had anything to do with the hierarchy they were on so much as Nappa's love of mocking anything and everything. But that was off-topic, wasn't it?

A long, pregnant pause dragged on between the two Saiyans before Nappa put forth a question, "So, what now?" At the lack of answer from Raditz, he frowned and continued, "You gonna track down Miss Feisty again and beat her until she tells you where Kakarot is?" The frown wasn't out of ridicule, Nappa clearly couldn't care less about violence of any kind. He seemed curious about where Raditz was going to take the thread he was pulling, if it would lead to Kakarot or into hilarious failure.

Whether or not his reference to beating the information out of the woman was ironic, Raditz blanched at the idea. Not that _he_ wouldn't resort to an action like that usually, but with an enemy like _that woman_ he couldn't bear to imagine such a scenario. "She might shoot me again!" he burst, breaking out in a cold sweat at the thought of how much _worse_ her firepower might be over a decade after their first meeting.

An amused smirk crossed Nappa's face, his eyes gleaming impishly at how frightened Raditz was. "I don't believe this, you're actually _scared_ of a woman. A woman, Raditz!"

The urge to tell him to shut up crossed his mind again, he tamped it down reminding himself it wasn't good for his health. "I'm not afraid of her," he countered levelly, shutting his eyes and willing his eyebrow to stop twitching. "I'm just aware that woman is ill-mannered enough to _not_ fear Saiyans as she damn well _should_."

"Gotta admire that, in a stupid way," Nappa pointed out, resting his chin in his hand and leaning on the table.  (The table somehow valiantly bore the weight of two leaning Saiyans.) "But if she knows Kakarot—"

"It would benefit me to approach this diplomatically," Raditz finished in an incredibly forced ethical tone.

Nappa snorted at how insincere the statement was; it was almost a joke, really, Saiyans didn't practice diplomacy. They both knew that. His tactics would involve intimidation and manipulation—the fact was, even if Raditz was the weakest of the three he was assuredly still much stronger than the woman. Moreover, his greatest strength was _cunning_. It was, honestly, frightening that Raditz _understood_ emotions and could feign them quite effectively, appealing to more sentimental creatures before going in for the kill. It was almost _too_ underhanded even for Saiyans. "So, is it going to be the sweet-talking, then?" Nappa queried.

"Ugh, I can't even stomach the idea." Raditz shuddered, grimacing as he tried to picture that detestable woman having any sort of sentiment besides enacting vengeance on her enemies. In an uncanny way, she reminded him of Vegeta, only wrapped up in a prettier, nicer-smelling package. "I'm sure if I see her again, I'll lose my shit and start screaming about my brother before even thinking about that."

"I hope I'm there to see it," Nappa taunted, poking him in the ribs with a mischievous smile. He snickered as Raditz batted away his hands, then stood to clean up the remains of his meal with an aside that he was going to check on Vegeta. Wherever the hell he went, anyway. Not that Raditz cared, that man had been a total pain in the ass since they were children and that never changed.

 _He still acts like a goddamned child sometimes,_ he thought as Nappa left the room, scouter beeping to search out the prince. _Temper tantrums and all. It's obscene._

 

* * *

 

There was a legend (Saiyans had quite a few of them) that if a Saiyan woman defeated a man in battle (or vice versa, or _whatever_ ), their destinies would be tied together forever. The bond is unquestionably inescapable.

On a more practical standpoint, no shit, Saiyans loved fighting and _of course_ they would be especially interested in whichever preference they had for a partner beating the crap out of them. Nappa had personally witnessed underlings of his instantly become smitten with women that punched them out, it was a little pathetic.

Vegeta, as a younger boy receiving his lessons on Saiyan lore, had a more forthright answer there: "What an asinine legend. _Obviously,_ you'd keep running into that person—because you would be seeking them out to defeat them!"

He had to admit, it made more sense than some nebulous "destiny" thing. Nappa, to tell the truth, wasn't as relentlessly anti-sentiment as Saiyans were taught to be—he was aware of it being a natural thing for his species. Did that make him secretly a softie? Hell no, he didn't get to where he was back on planet Vegeta by being _open_ about that sort of thing. He, same as the others of his generation, quashed it before any pesky conscience could drive them to insanity.

The youth were more fortunate.

He supposed.

The only "youth" left were Raditz and Vegeta, and those two…they were completely wrapped up in the _work_ they did for Frieza rather than the true thrill of battle. As the years under the abominable lizard dragged on, Vegeta became more closed off and downright _vindictive._ Raditz could be just as bad, but they all knew deep down he held onto some sentiment and hope that kept him from completely icing over.

Nappa, well, all he could do was watch over them, indulge himself in the joy of chaos, unwind with eating out at nice places and going to theaters where he immaturely heckled everything. Some part of him did get invested in the stories, not that he would tell anyone. "The Monkey King and I" was his most recent show, he actually sat through it with minimal jeers. It started as most good stories did: with a young girl shooting a boy in the face (Nappa whooped and called "shoot him again!" at that). Big mistake on her part, while she might have been a clever technomancer (a word he was sure was fabricated just for that story), he was the Monkey King, the living avatar of the sun itself.

 _Ah, that was a good one,_ he fondly reflected. _I should see part two s—_

The image on the viewing screen in the break room stopped Nappa in his tracks and set his blissful train of thought careening over a cliff.

The break room of the base they were staying at for the moment was admittedly one of the nicer ones—couches were comfortable, the drink and snack dispensing machines weren't breaking down daily, and the viewing screen was large. Large and crisply clear in its display, he often saw lower level soldiers boisterously cheering as they watched beetloid battles. Today, someone had set the playback of security footage on the screen—and not just any, the security cams of the nowheresville bar he and Raditz visited.

He became aware then that the _Ginyu Force_ of all people were crowded around hooting and guffawing at the tape of the Patrollers totally decimating the three nuisances. Nappa supposed Frieza wanted his higher ups to review security cameras of his designated leisure places for soldiers, anything that required calling the Galactic Patrol for assistance was especially high on the interest list. He wasn't perturbed by the pirouetting and primping fools, necessarily, so long as they minded their own business. It was the fact that Vegeta was sat in the middle of their chaotic throng that set his tail fur on end.

Vegeta was notoriously insolent and unapologetic for how abrasive he was—being technically a teenager meant he wouldn't mature out of that behavior in a hurry. Of course, it wasn't quite maturing so much as "please stop testing your boundaries with Frieza, you are why I lost my hair" to Nappa. Trying to contend with the usual things of raising two Saiyan kids grew into a task of herculean proportions when they were left without a home and entirely at Frieza's mercy. The Ginyu Force members enjoyed pushing Vegeta's buttons—when he and Raditz hit puberty was the most mortifying time. Nappa had done his best to delicately, though that wasn't a thing Saiyans did, explain to them what they would be feeling and where babies came from. His royal highness snidely shot back that he already knew, Raditz's mother oversaw the incubation tanks for the lower class. It was confirmed by said mama's boy Saiyan, he clarified that while Gine wasn't explicit they understood what she told them well enough. Nappa didn't question the woman's knowledge of all the technical parts, but…there was something a woman wouldn't understand from the perspective of a man, which he tried to supplement.

"That's ridiculous, I'm above such vulgar things," Vegeta had insisted while Raditz looked a little horrified at the prospect of there _ever_ being something he couldn't control. Regardless, he dismissed their whining and posturing, satisfied that they were now educated and wouldn't be a danger to themselves and others. They could leave it be and Nappa would leave them to their own devices.

He could, at least, until the Ginyu Force took matters into their own hands and sat the boys down to watch their pornography collection. Nappa was no prude, he had a perfectly healthy sex drive, despite that he didn't keep a _collection_ and he certainly would have never shown it to the kids. There was no education to be found in porn, it was fabricated and inaccurate as hell, recreational not educational. Ginyu got an earful from Nappa that day. Ginyu, unaware and aghast at what his men did, gave the team an earful. The team half-heartedly apologized and took their punishment of no snack time for a week. Raditz had been left nearly catatonic by the trauma whereas Vegeta simply looked sickened and categorically uninterested.

That might have set the trend for the next few years into their young adulthood. They exaggerated as whiny brats tended to, Nappa did _not_ tease them or try to set them up with women as often as they grumbled. Sure, he figured indulging occasionally would help with their aggression and stress, but he wasn't stupid, he knew the risks. He knew Frieza watched them closely, the most volatile and powerful of them especially. The feisty one had been the first he played at setting either of them up with in a while, she _did_ seem promising—and, come on, fucking a Galactic Patroller was an undeniably hilarious irony. He couldn't deny that he ribbed at them for lacking experience in comparison to him, however, but it was about as obvious as saying Zarbon was vain and pompous that they _did_. They were wet behind the ears kids, he was a grown man, and he had the luxury of growing to adulthood on their planet.

Regardless, the Ginyu Force whooping like interstellar mallards as they rewound the "highlights" of the encounter while Vegeta sat with eyes glued to the screen was cause to be concerned. Though…it didn't look like they were even focused on him, they were brazenly gawking at presumably the only two female Patrollers in the goddamned galaxy.

"Hooooowhee, that's a cute one, idn't she?" Jeice leaned forward, rubbing his chin as he checked over the full scope of the feisty officer's appearance with approval. She was disdainfully looking at the criminals that had been harassing Nappa and Raditz—he could see himself in the corner of the footage watching curiously.

"I dunno," Burter began with a leer as the older officer reached forward on the smaller one's command and smashed two of the idiots' heads together. "That one's cute, too. I think she's more my _speed_."

The team loudly laughed at the stupid pun, Vegeta looked like he wished to set fire to everyone in the room but kept his eyes on the screen nonetheless—his eyebrow was twitching slightly, whether at annoyance or in consideration Nappa couldn't tell. He had to admit, Burter was right, the larger woman was more of Nappa's type as well—strong, huge, and mature. He wouldn't consider it for much longer than a second, however, she was one of Dodoria's race—that would be like pursuing a female Dodoria, a disturbing prospect.

Guldo, as if he ever had a chance with either of those women, munched on popcorn and commented, "Yeah but, I wouldn't want to get on their bad side. That one looks sweet, but then she pulls _that_ —" The creature getting shocked by the woman came up, his horrible shrieks prompting Recoome to grab the remote and mute the footage.

"Aw, don't be a wimp, Guldo!" he chuckled, rewinding to recapture the magical moment. The room filled with hollers, applause, and floor-shaking stomps as the woman's sadistic grin, electric flashes creating eerie shadows on her pretty face, oversaw the torture of the carrot-monster.

They continued to chatter, whatever it was becoming a dull buzz around the two as Nappa watched Vegeta for his reaction. The image was one that he was sure lived in Raditz's nightmares, but any respectable Saiyan man would be enticed by; the Patroller—a curvaceous, uniquely colored woman—pushed her gun down onto the alien's head, malice gleaming brightly in her eyes, an almost seductive smile on her face while she crooned sweet nothings about killing him unless he did what she asked. Nappa looked for any sign of recognition on the prince's face—if what Raditz said was true, it _was_ extremely likely that the Patroller and the girl they met as children were the same person. He found none, only a deep scowl tinted with understated fascination.

 _Huh, so is **that** what he's into? Maybe he's not so "above it" after all,_  a vague thought occurred to him before promptly shaking himself out of that clear dead-end of a tangent and spoke up, "Hey guys? What're ya draggin' Vegeta into this for again? If you had to review security tapes, couldn't you have done it in a more private place?"

"Whaddya sayin'?" Jeice responded, looking offended at the accusation. " _Vegeta_ was the one who was watchin' this when we came in, we're just enjoyin' it in respectful comradeship!"

"Maaan, you need to get over that, Nappa," Recoome groaned, hitting pause—the woman now frozen mid-walk with a distinct confident hip sway as she might have ordered the gang to _move_ if the actual witness was remembering the sequence correctly. "It was like, what, five years ago? Vegeta's over it, aren'tcha lil Veggie?" He elbowed Vegeta lightly, who only replied with a growl and something he obviously couldn't hear. "Say wha—? Gee, Veggie, don'tcha know how to use your words? Whatever." Recoome hit play again before quickly hitting rewind at the mark of the Patrollers pushing the arrestees out the door.

Nappa stared down at him in surprise—none of the Ginyus might have been able to hear what he said, but Saiyans had supremely good hearing.

It was only two words: "How vulgar."

He pulled up the security footage and let the Ginyu Force pile around him to watch it over and over again, just to remark that it was vulgar? What was with that? Nappa sighed harshly, running a hand over his head down his face. He just couldn't keep up with the kids sometimes, what a pain in the ass.

 

* * *

 

Tahaya watched Bulma with a look of contemplation as she packed her capsules away for the impending trip back to Earth. Since the incident with the Rabbit Gang Bulma had been laser-focused on her work and training, preparing for what she figured would be an inevitable encounter with vengeful Saiyans. Not that her fellow Patrollers knew _why_ she had been working harder than ever, but the gaze she felt on her back said they still questioned it—or at least Tahaya did. She knew they noticed; Mosto could see how frantically she tried to calm down her heartbeat and heard the thoughts of being too young and beautiful to die. Tyber felt the punches come harder than ever, frowned at how aggressive she was being—at that point she taunted _him_ more than the usual dynamic. Jaco outright avoided her with a fearful skitter away if she so much as breathed in his direction. Tahaya simply watched her, silently, forming questions in her mind as the days dragged on.

"Is it boy trouble, Bulma?" she finally asked, Bulma couldn't see the expression but imagined it was concerned.

Bulma in no way wished to talk about Saiyans—the only _boy trouble_ she really had on her mind then—so she scrambled for an excuse with an elegant, "Uh…"

There was an assumption that it was about _a_ boy, however, if that was how she was looking at it…Bulma could just as easily turn it into a mentioning of her concerns she had been mulling over the past couple of months. About Yamcha, about their relationship, about _why_ she didn't feel as regretful and sad at leaving Earth as she should have been considering she was leaving the man she loved. "Well…I've been with my boyfriend since I was 16," Bulma began, twirling one of her last capsules in her fingers, turning to Tahaya so she could force a convincing look. How in the galaxy could she put her relationship with Yamcha into words? She would try, anyway. She recounted the whole romantic tale, the fated meeting of an adventurous beauty and a handsome desert bandit with a shy side, taking care to leave out any specific details about Goku but still giving the picture as it was. The initial joy and love at "finding" each other cooling off came next, her suspicions that Yamcha was unfaithful, then how underwhelmed she felt about…everything.

Tahaya listened attentively, expression considering the words as Bulma finished her story.

"So, that's it. I don't know what to do." She helplessly shrugged and put her hands on her hips, brow furrowing in thought; come to think of it, even if she hadn't intended to talk about it with anyone it _did_ feel nice to come out with the whole thing. "I don't know how I can fix things and make them go back to how they were," she admitted in a quieter voice. "Should I even be the one fixing things? Mom tells me that _Yamcha_ is a catch, but _I'm_ the one who—"

"Bulma," Tahaya interrupted, putting her hand on Bulma's shoulder. "I think you're bored, and I think you both have moved on but are afraid of officially splitting up."

" _Bored_?" She affected an offended tone in reply, though her heart couldn't deny the words that panged at it so hopelessly. "I'm not—I _love_ Yamcha!"

She shook her head sadly and pressed on, "Why? Have you had a boyfriend before him?" Heedless of the uncomfortable way Bulma broke eye contact (or aware but realizing she _needed_ to hear what was being said) she continued, "What do you even talk about? How intimate are you guys? Do you even have anything in common besides being unlucky with the opposite sex before meeting?"

At first, she only stammered about intimacy having no relevance to her feelings for Yamcha, they were still relatively young after all! As she stumbled over her words, Bulma felt a hot flush of shame come over her, eyes beginning to mist and wobble. She tried looking directly at Tahaya again but found herself unable to, staring down at the floor as she mumbled, "Nobody that hung around longer than a couple of days. I've…tried to initiate _some_ things—not too much!—but he'd get so nervous and…even after two _years_ he still…"

The topic of intimacy hit her more painfully than she wanted to let on. Bulma had desires like any person would in addition to her curiosity, and she wished to share them with the man she loved. The man she loved was fair-weather, lacked passion, jumped away from the idea with _fear_ as if she was covered in spikes. It frustrated him too, she could see, it wasn't like Yamcha _didn't_ want to be close and she wasn't ignorant to his struggles. But trying and trying was like beating their heads against a wall that separated them.

"Do you _really_ think he cheats on you?" Tahaya pressed further, moving her hand to swipe away the tears that had started to gather around Bulma's eyes.

"…No," she answered in a small voice, shame strangling the breath from her. "But I see him talking to other girls, he's so friendly, I just…think he's going to leave like the rest. Then I start yelling at him, it seems like all we do is fight, and he just _lets me_ yell at him."

Tahaya hummed, a joyless tone. "He sounds nice," she finally said gently. "I don't know if 'nice' is what you actually want, though. Or need. You both just fear being alone and _can't_ end it."

"What do I _do_ , then, Taya?" Bulma cried, feeling her world beginning to crumble at the stark reality that she and Yamcha _weren't_ meant for each other. "Y-you know, he's talked about how he wants to get _married_ someday, but every time I hear that I kind of freak out because I _don't_ and—"

"Shhhh." Tahaya ran her fingers through Bulma's hair soothingly, quelling her anxieties with a simple touch. It was almost magical how easily the fear left at her touch. "Try being friends with him first, relaxing around him _without_ thinking about your relationship. You didn't really take the time to get to know each other before, did you?" Not waiting for her to mutter the admission that she didn't, Tahaya went on: "And stop getting mad over stupid things!"

"So, you're saying it's _my_ fault!?" Bulma snapped defensively, anger mixing into her worries.

"No. It's not your fault, but it's not his either. It's _nobody's_ fault you're not satisfied, Bulma," she asserted. "You're young, you can't rely on the idea of miracles and _destiny_. It doesn't happen like that."

The natural _wisdom_ of what she was saying shut Bulma up immediately, leaving her staring at her wide-eyed and agape in wonder. She didn't question how much older some of her fellow officers were usually, or what their experiences were like, the way Tahaya spoke however sounded like _decades_ of knowledge. The disappointment came when she realized that it was right then, miracles and destiny were simply fairy tales; one didn't just fly by and magically find the perfect relationship.

"Relationships," Tahaya intoned with somewhat of a note of reverence. "Take time, effort, compatibility, and agreement by _both_ partners to understand each other. They take _work_. Equal parts passion, understanding, honesty, love, and _unity_."

She didn't know how to react, mouthing a single "wow" without words. The way Tahaya had spoken sounded…she wasn't sure if it was motherly or sisterly—Tights was not interested in dating, Panchy encouraged wild flings. Bulma had never taken the time to sit down and truly talk to them in a serious way, living in romantic stories of adventure and passion. _Be Yamcha's friend, huh…_ She could try it, she asked originally how to fix things but suspected it _couldn't_ go back to the initial joy they shared. They were getting older (even if not necessarily maturing), changing directions opposite to each other, and really while Bulma _was_ homesick she didn't have that lovesick worry she would never see Yamcha again.

"And don't think dating a Saiyan is your solution!" Tahaya interrupted the quiet, unexpectedly mature contemplation and changed the mood of the room with a flick of her fingers against Bulma's head. She smirked at the subsequent stammers of confusion and added, "I saw that look you gave that Saiyan the other day. I'm sure it's adventurous you want, an adventurous _bad_ man. But going for a Saiyan is basically suicidal, get me?"

"That's disgusting!" Bulma stomped her foot, shoulders bunching up in her outrage at the accusation. "I would _never_ go for one of those barbarians! Besides—one was a bald old man and the other had more hair than _me._ Seriously?! No guy should have hair that long! It's ridiculous!"

"What's wrong with bald?" Tahaya answered, canting her head in feigned confusion. Feigned, of course, because she happened to have a big silly grin across her face. "Come on, bald is beautiful," she said then, ruffling Bulma's hair affectionately. "I'll forget you said that, though, as long as you're not chasing _that_ kind of tail."

Bulma slapped away Tahaya's hand and stuck her tongue out in disgust, pointedly turning away with an upturn of her nose to storm off to the hangar. "God, and people say _I'm_ the pervert!"

She had to admit, however, she _did_ feel better about the tense conversation and the uncomfortable realizations it brought about herself and her beloved. She could even ignore that one of the Saiyans Tahaya implied she might pursue probably had intentions to kill her if he realized they had met before. At least Bulma still had _that_ kept secret, broaching the topic about Goku being an alien and just being friends to Yamcha would be hard enough. There was also the matter of checking in to see how Launch was doing with the task of piecing together the memories of her two sides.

All right _,_ Bulma decided as she said her farewells to her friends with the promise to bring back Christmas gifts for them (Tyber was confused and asked what Christmas even was) she would invite Yamcha and Launch over for the holidays. Just to have some nice quality time with not _all_ her friends, but the ones closest to her in age. _Hey,_ she thought when she settled herself into the ship to prepare for takeoff. _I wonder if Yamcha would be up for training? There's a couple of tricks he could teach me, and I want to show him my progress…_ Upon realizing that she was _still_ thinking of training even when supposedly heading off on holiday, she angrily punched on a number pad next to a speaker. "Tyber, you jerk!" Bulma yelled into the transmitter connected to HQ. "You trained me so much, now I can't think of anything _but_ that!"

"That's not my problem," her teacher's maddeningly cool tone buzzed back. "We're picking up where we left off anyway, wouldn't it be better to _not_ let yourself get out of shape again?"

"Ughhhh! See if I bring _you_ a Christmas gift when I get back!"

"You still haven't told me what that is…"

Her transmitter continued to crackle with various voices on her way back to Earth; first she explained to Tyber what Christmas was, then Mosto reminded her to keep practicing her ki building, finally Jaco cut in obnoxiously to tell Bulma not to do something that would reflect poorly on the Patrol. It was less of a solitary trip with the voices, Bulma could at least appreciate that. In the last legs of her journey, Tahaya reminded her to be _friendly_ with Yamcha when she met him again.

"I'm going to be!" she asserted as the craft touched down silently on the Capsule Corporation compound. "I'm thinking of asking him to train me a little, we didn't _used_ to have much in common besides being single and having opposite sex troubles, like you said. But maybe martial arts will help with that needing to relate thing."

"Ah yes, the joy of beating the unholy tar out of each other," Tahaya giggled. "I swear, Tyber is right, you very well _could_ have Saiyan blood in you."

"Oh, shut up," Bulma groaned, swiping her hand over her face in exasperation. "I don't want to hear any more about Saiyans until I come back to HQ, all right? I'm home now, so I gotta go. Later, Taya."

The dawn was breaking when the errant Briefs daughter landed, the frosty dew on the grass sparkled as she trudged a path back up to the familiarity of her house. A sense of peace overcame Bulma, not unlike how she felt when practicing her ki lessons, when she stepped through the doorway out of the chill air. The early morning shift workers were just arriving, the surprise at the abrupt appearance of the heiress rippling through them. Bulma simply smiled and waved, "Hey everyone! I'm home!"

Her parents, when they woke up, were overjoyed to see their daughter coming home and set about creating a welcome back to never forget. Dr. Briefs updated her on the work done in her absence and compared notes about what technology she encountered in space while Panchy whipped up a veritable feast of a breakfast. The relief at being able to forget space and the drama therein aside, Bulma placed a call to Kame House and soon received word back from Yamcha (who was surprised at her being awake at the early hour). She teased back that if he was saying that, he clearly hadn't been paying enough attention to her all-nighters to work. Before they could get caught up in the temptation to just sit there and talk about all the things prevented by distance in the past few months, Bulma invited him and Launch to come over for breakfast, possibly staying for Christmas that week. Though he was left a little confused by the invitation only being extended to the two of them, Yamcha jokingly replied to save them some breakfast as they would arrive within the hour.

 _Try being friends with him,_ the advice echoed in her head as she placed the phone back on the hook. _That's going to be easier said than done,_ Bulma thought sourly, happiness ebbing away into numb disappointment. She really wasn't sure if she would have the guts to tell Yamcha she wanted to try taking a break to just be friends. Telling everyone she was going to space to be a Patroller was easier than this prospect.

By the time Launch and Yamcha arrived and sat down to breakfast with the Briefs family, Bulma had fallen into a pensive silence. How in the world to explain Goku's true origins followed by "I think we need to take a break" didn't magically appear in her mind, no matter how long her genius self mulled it over. Her friends and parents were in high spirits, chattering away and asking Bulma about what it was like in space. She answered as best as she could to describe the full scope of HQ and some of the missions she had been on. Yamcha notably shook his head and laughed in disbelief at the reappearance of Monster Carrot.

 _Oh hell,_ she mentally grumbled after a fashion. _I'll just tell them directly._ Along with her parents as well, why not? It wasn't like she didn't intend to tell everyone else down the line, including Goku himself. "I found people like Goku," Bulma began, resting her elbows on the table and sweeping her gaze around the room. "This is going to be a long story, so you guys might wanna sit down."

Most of them were already sitting anyway, but Panchy joined the table to sit at her husband's side and gaze at their daughter in mutual confusion. "You…found people like Goku?" Blue Launch, who already had a fresh journal out, hesitantly asked. "What do you—?"

Bulma bluntly interrupted before any derailing made her lose her nerve to tell them, "Aliens just like him are out there." Not even waiting for the group to move past their reaction of eyes widening, she continued, "Well, sort of. Their planet was destroyed when Goku was a baby." She considered softening the blow by implying the planet's destruction was _why_ he ended up on Earth but decided that lying wouldn't help anything. "Saiyans—that's what they're called—look like humans except…they have monkey tails and transform during the full moon." Bulma proceeded to tell the whole, ugly truth about what she learned of Saiyans, her listeners staying silent for the most part excepting the occasional gasps from Launch or her mother. Her father refilled and drained several mugs of coffee as she told about what the surviving Saiyans were up to. Yamcha watched her in confused silence as she talked about Tyber and shared that he could be icy at first but was honestly kind and a very good teacher. She smiled affectionately as she thought of him, then frowned again while she skipped over any hint about her childhood encounter. No, as far as Bulma would tell them, the only Saiyan who had ever come to Earth was Goku.

"It explains why he's so strong and always eager for a fight, huh?" she asked with a wry smile as she twisted a lock of her hair around her fingers. (In the months she had been gone, her hair had grown out past her chin, she was honestly surprised Tyber never tried to pull it as a battle tactic in their training and left it alone.) "…Tyber isn't like them," she felt the need to defend her teacher right away. "He's more like Goku, kind and caring, it's just that he likes to fight by nature."

"I mean, you're still in one piece, so I really didn't doubt that your teacher was decent," Yamcha said despite having already been told about Tyber's training. (The explanation was in fact for her parents, though Dr. Briefs and Panchy looked unsurprised by their daughter taking to physical combat so readily.) "What gets me is that…if Goku was sent here to take over Earth, and Saiyans have that kind of destruction instinct…then what happened?"

"I haven't figured it out myself," Bulma admitted, scraping at her plate to get the last of the syrup on her pancake.

"Maybe he just…forgot?" Launch offered, tapping her pencil on the journal. At everyone turning her way, she blushed and looked down. "Well!...I…forget when I change personalities. So maybe it's something like that? Something happened to Goku and he flipped from a mean Saiyan into the Son Goku we know and love."

"Like, he has amnesia?" Yamcha rubbed at the back of his neck, not seeming like he was discrediting the idea but still doubtful. "Goku's conked his head a couple of times since then, I wonder why he hasn't flipped back at all?"

"He landed here as a baby, didn't he?" Panchy chipped into the line of thought, pouring her husband another cup of coffee. "If little Goku hit his head and forgot who he was supposed to be, then his grandpa found him, that's nurture over nature, isn't it?"

"…Yeah, Mom." Bulma smiled over at her mother. "Alien or not, he's still our Goku."

Not that she ever doubted Goku. None of them did as evident by Launch and Yamcha's fond smiles.

 _Well, that's one thing out of the way._ Bulma's smile faded as she thought of what she would be approaching next. _Now what am I going to say to Yamcha, and when?_

At that point Bulma thought she would rather actually meet the Saiyans in a fight again than consider how she was going to do the adult thing and take a break from her relationship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you noticed some of the flubs from before: I'm sorry, I fixed them tho.
> 
> If you're wondering why this chapter ended so abruptly: Sorry again, I felt like it was going on too long orz
> 
> Next time we're heading into age 752! Maybe next year there won't be so much heavy stuff (likely not).
> 
> Also before I forget again, if you wanted like...to see whatever tidbits I do about this thing on tumblr, I have a writing tumblr here: https://missportugal96.tumblr.com/


	9. Give and Take

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta is an asshole, Tyber's life is suffering, Nappa makes a friend, Bulma and Yamcha have a serious mature discu--hahaha just kidding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks for the positive response to this ridiculous thing. We're...going to a place, I think, maybe! 
> 
> (Sorry I don't take Vegeta remotely seriously, I do my best.)

By the second day of being back at Capsule Corp. Bulma realized she was chickening out of the plan to tell Yamcha she wanted to take a break. She hated that she was being as wishy-washy as she accused him of being, at the same time he was being so _sweet_ and attentive to her she couldn't fathom taking a break. Tahaya's words reminded her as he was being the perfect gentleman (and giving her the attention she strongly craved) that the other shoe would drop some time. It would drop on her head if she didn't follow through like she planned. But then he would do something so considerate and Bulma would feel infatuation flourish all over again. _Sorry, Taya,_ she thought the first time and every time after that Yamcha wasn't told. Her guilt would subside at seeing his smile and hearing him suggest that they do something fun like go to a photobooth.

(She only wanted someone that she would never doubt the feelings of towards her. Was that so wrong? It just so happened she wanted a _lot_ of devotion.)

"To tell you the truth," he said on the fourth day—the day before Christmas—while they were having lunch. "When you said that you needed to talk to me about something, I thought you were gonna say that the distance wasn't working out for you." A pause, he flushed lightly while tugging at his (now cut) hair. "I—I mean…you know, with us."

Bulma blinked, stared at him as though he just announced he wasn't wearing underwear, finally a hesitant smile came in response. "No, but now that you mention it…" She trailed off with a teasing lilt, sending a mischievous wink his way.

"Aw, Bulma, come on!" Yamcha groaned, sending her into a fit of giggles at his expense.

She insisted she was kidding, she lied that she wasn't thinking of anything close to that. It was easier to lie in the end, cowardly as it might have been Bulma fell back into it like a comfortable chair. When they left the café, however, the silence that had fallen over the two of them was cold and tense.

 _Why?_ Bulma wondered. _What changed?_

"Bulma, you know you're my friend, and I care about you," Yamcha's solemn tone grabbed her from the prison of her own mind. He looked at her as though he had been struggling to come to a conclusion about something and was finally working up the nerve. "I'd do anything to make sure that you're safe. I'd never hurt you, but—"

Her brow furrowed, stopping to stare at him. He stopped too, a solid figure backlit by the sunlight. He looked…determined. Strangely so. "What is it?"

"I think we're going in different directions. I think we need a break."

 

* * *

 

 

 _"Is everything okay?"_ Bulma had asked Tyber when he was late to their training session because of a call he had to take.

It was nothing, he insisted. He brushed her off and told her to worry more about herself then.

The truth was, Tyber had received a call from his wife at the theater showing their daughter was asked to play the main role in. Someone in the audience was loudly braying while Celrey acted the part of the Monkey King. "If that's the case, why didn't you escort the heckler out?" he had asked. It wasn't as though a strong Heran woman like herself was incapable, and she _never_ asked Tyber to do things that she could solve herself.

"<My dearest moon>," her voice came back in a grim tone, sending a tingle uncomfortable and entirely unwelcome through his nerves.

When Tyber was taken in by the Heran nomads, they had taught him their language as one usually would while raising a child. At least they did to the best approximation they could, his straightforward mind stumbled over the interpretive context-based language. The term of endearment Zurui used he understood to be a serious declaration of what a person meant to the speaker, used sparingly, only for very intimate moments or very dire moments. "My dearest moon" was a combination of his interpretation as a Saiyan (after all, the moon was a symbol of strength to his _people_ ) and his gran's guidance. Zurui thought the translation was cute, Tyber told her to never let anyone know that was how he read it.

There was nothing cute about how she was using it then, and it would only get worse as she continued, "<That man is a Saiyan.>" Or, more broadly, "A man who threatens what you hold dear."

His stomach dropped, fear shook him to his very core as he mumbled and tried to answer back. Eventually he wheezed out a meek, "All right…" God, he hated it, he hated being afraid.

(Then again, if there was a merciful god out there, would Saiyans exist? Would _he_ have been born a Saiyan?)

The King would _not_ approve of one of his officers moving against any of Frieza's men, even if they were of a similar species and had a tendency towards being territorial. Even _if_ their spouse personally asked them to do so. Yet, there he was, having asked for "holiday time" off (what holidays, Saiyans _or_ Herans had none) to attend the show his daughter starred in. Just to be sure…just to be _sure_ nobody would cause trouble.

Tyber sat in the middle row with Zurui by his side. At least among other aliens they were the least conspicuous-looking, his tail was the only thing that set him apart. Otherwise nobody paid a second glance to the humanoid alien couple. Especially not him considering as a Saiyan he looked sharp and unapproachable by default. Bulma said once he didn't look that unfriendly once she got used to him, she mentioned his hair made him look like one of her mother's dahlias. He had to admit, after seeing one of the many pictures of her mother's garden, he couldn't deny that he saw the similarity; though he also found the idea of comparing something like a Saiyan to something gentle and beautiful like a flower weird. Saiyans were nothing but violence, chaos, and bloodshed. Saiyans couldn't compare to the sense of peace he got looking at the pictures of the varieties of flowers that only grew on Earth—though he never pictured himself as much of a gardener either. Tyber couldn't picture his wife doing such a thing, at that, she was just as rough and tumble as him. Her smithing work made sure of that even if her outward appearance was delicate; he told her once that she was a gem hewn in fire when they got over themselves and started dating. She laughed at Tyber, teasing him with a succinct, "That is _not_ how gems are refined."

He knew, he didn't care, that wasn't the point anyway. His family was the loveliest part of his very dark life and he wasn't ashamed of saying that openly. The idea that something could take that away frightened Tyber beyond rational thought. Saiyans could do that, they would mock him for the sentiment, derogatorily call his children and union _mixed_. They would destroy everything if he wasn't on-guard.

Neither of them told their eldest, the most Saiyan-like spitfire of their children, that they were partly looking out for a threat who might go beyond heckling at some point. They knew their daughter, she would seek and try to fight the threat herself in that case even if she enjoyed acting just a little more than fighting.

Celrey was a sight to behold on stage, proclaiming herself to be Sun Wukong, the Monkey King and the living sun itself. Tyber wasn't sure where the name came from, but he was next to convinced whatever language it was "Sun" wasn't referring to a star. He was also certain "the Monkey King" wasn't exactly a hero, at least not in the traditional sense. Still, the figure with a red cloak, standing tall and proud (despite his actor being not so much) was legendary. The ornate armor (she claimed she could wear real metal armor, but cloth was insisted upon for safety) looked nothing like any design Frieza or the Patrol ever used. He had to give it to Celrey's aunties, they went all out with making the costume; although the gold circlet she wore could hardly be seen through the tangled mess that was her hair (yet they did try to tame it by pulling it back).

It looked regal in a way, especially with the staff (apparently so heavy only the Monkey King could hold it) and the clouds Sun Wukong skipped across freely (achieved by clever staging and Celrey's own flight ability). He wasn't sure if the Monkey King had gold eyes, either, but the one who "adapted" the story (stole it from some other alien culture and presented it as original) insisted on contacts at first for the girl. Zurui, ever the concerned mother, put her foot down…right on the author's foot and told him with a strained smile that her daughter knew disguising magic and would not need to shove those horrible things in her eyes.

(Interestingly enough, disguising magic was allegedly one of Sun Wukong's abilities as well, though his tail remained when he transformed into other beings; Tyber tried to imagine that when he learned of the detail.)

The magician girl who imbued magic within mechanical (they called it a "technomancer" which sounded like a mechanic that read too many fantasies) was his companion Tang. Tyber was also convinced that wasn't her name at all and the role was nothing like that in whatever story the play was taken from. (Zurui told him to stop overthinking and speculating on things he would never actually know.) The overall arc of the story was Wukong and Tang searching out mystical pearls (which looked more like clear glass orbs with stars on them than pearls) that created a miracle when brought together.

He had almost forgotten why he was even there, caught up in marveling how easily his daughter depicted the character. A man sitting two seats in front of him stomping his feet and yelling, "Go monkey go!" crashed him back into reality.

 _Oh no._ He recognized that bald head and the distinct silhouette next to him. _Nappa? **And** Prince Vegeta? **Why**?! _ Tyber knew he should have thought it ominous that on Bulma's first mission ( ** _of course_** _!_ ) the Saiyans were _that_ close to the current coordinates his family lived in. But, a theater show? Why?

Tyber's communicator vibrating in his pocket distracted him as the lights brightened for intermission, pulling him out of an impending anxiety attack. He felt the nervousness build again, however, as he looked at the caller ID and frowned—Bulma? He answered immediately, forsaking his usual greeting of "this is Tyber" for a hesitant, "Hello?"

Zurui looked over at him in alarm as the sobbing voice of his student came over the line. "He dumped me!" the cries wobbled while Tyber held his communicator away both in reaction to the noise and discomfort therein. Who? Dumped? Was…was Bulma crying? Who in the world could have possibly made _Bulma_ of all people cry? Sure, she did whine a fair amount like a child that lacked discipline would, but he had never seen her _cry_ even during their training sessions. Zurui reached over and touched his arm, telling him with a look to put the device back to his ear and _listen_ to what the distraught young lady was saying before making conclusions.

As if that confusion wasn't enough, Celrey had come down from the stage to visit her parents and was taken aback by the sound of Bulma's voice in distress. "Dad?" Bulma didn't know much about his family yet, she hadn't seen pictures (honestly, he just kept forgetting and didn't want to be caught showing sentimentality) but they knew everything about her. (Of course, they would, Tyber wouldn't shut up about the progress his student was making.) "Is that big sis Bulma? Why is she crying?"

"Why don't you and Dad find out?" Zurui leaned forward, patting Celrey on the head. "I'll save our seats, honey, you go take care of things." They looked at each other and nodded, an understanding there—she would keep an eye on the Saiyans while he talked to Bulma, there wouldn't be surprise attacks.

Tyber smiled in return, taking Celrey by the hand to lead her out to the lobby. "Yes…let's find out, Celrey. Let's see if we can help big sis—no, Bulma, I'm still here, I'm listening. What did he do? Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

Whatever happened, it wasn't something Tyber was remotely prepared for. He thought he had until his kids aged to their teens before dealing with drama of that level.

Nothing ever went as expected with Bulma.

 

* * *

 

 

The truth was Vegeta had never forgotten the unfortunate encounter he and Raditz had as children. He was _furious_ at the humiliation after the initial shock of being intimidated by a lesser lifeform, yes, but he never forgot it. He merely shifted his priorities going forward where Raditz continued to stew on it and his brother. While as a more arrogant youth, Vegeta _would_ have sought to take revenge, Frieza was a bigger threat than a five-year-old on a backwater mudball. He took time to analyze it after spending some time working for Frieza and concluded that a few scenarios might have happened if he pursued retribution; the least likely but worst was she might have _indeed_ bested Vegeta if she had the chance to pull off a shot on him. No matter what, that disgusting lizard would have been tracking his movements and notice the whole thing happening.

If he discovered that planet, that genius child with an almost Saiyan instinct for destruction—Vegeta would be in a lot of trouble, wouldn't he? Frieza would either destroy Earth and enslave the girl for his own ends ( _another child losing everything, another tool for **him**_ ) or raze the whole thing, killing the only person to ever force a retreat from Vegeta.

It was easy to mistake the thoughts as concern or sympathy, they were not, it was pure selfishness. The Girl was _his_ target, _his_ revenge, his little secret shared only by Raditz who still feared even speaking of it. Raditz who _dared_ to say, "K-Kakarot will take care of her!"

"Kakarot?!" Vegeta had sputtered at the time, offended that he would even _think_ such a ludicrous conclusion let alone have the gall to speak it. "I don't ever want to hear that name again, Raditz, understand?! Ever!" How dare that idiot suggest low-born trash would take the revenge that was rightly his? Raditz had a lot of nerve openly flaunting his weakness by talking about his brother, as if any of them had the luxury! (Some part of him spitefully wished that Kakarot had met his end at the hands of Earth's army, just to show Raditz what a fool he was for believing in his ability to survive.)

Over time, as Vegeta acknowledged that any thoughts or desires for revenge mattered less and less (being in Frieza's army was a different hell entirely) his thoughts about The Girl became quieter. If another person were to observe his thoughts about her, they might mistake it for a form of affection, albeit a very twisted one. It was nonsense, of course, Vegeta didn't _do_ affection. Especially not towards a frail little girl that brazenly stood up, called them scum, made _demands_ of them, and shot Raditz.

…He would admit after having some time to think of it, seeing Raditz get blown away after underestimating her was a little funny. It _was_ shocking that a mere alien wielding a gun could blow away the second strongest Saiyan child (though Vegeta would insist he personally was stronger than him _and_ adult Saiyans) at the same time, he thought at least it wasn't him. His younger self had _no_ desire to test the firepower of Earthlings beyond The Girl, let alone hers itself.

 _Is she even in Earth's army? What is she doing now?_ he mused when he was about fourteen and left idle (something that always drove Vegeta crazy). Around that time, he found his thoughts wandering to The Girl frequently and what she was doing. Of course, she was still alive, someone like that wouldn't have crumbled so easily against anyone, even a Saiyan. No opponent worthy of an elite like him would fall against just _anyone_.

 _I wonder what she looks like now?_ he thought, then questioned himself on why he was considering such an inane line of thought. Vegeta-the-younger-teen decided it must have been because what he remembered of The Girl most was her outlandish yet fascinating looks—so like a Saiyan, but soft and with strange coloring. The gaze of spite and anger she had was certainly Saiyan. The hair and eye color not so much, blues that he had never encountered on his own planet except in cloth. Not like he was going to _tell_ anyone he was deliberating on someone's looks, that sort of vulgarity was beneath him. _All_ the vulgarities common people engaged in were beneath him.

Then the Ginyu Incident happened.

Vegeta didn't want to talk about the Ginyu Incident even to the present day, however it did make for some mortifying and strange dreams of…kissing(? He thought that was what the act was called) an imagined older version of The Girl. He quashed _that_ as soon as it dared to show itself. No way in hell was he ever going to let Nappa be _right_ about something supposedly "natural" like having no control of his thoughts about a vulgar topic. Besides that, she was an enemy, if they crossed paths again Vegeta would show her exactly _who_ she trifled with and had the audacity to spare. Petty? Vindictive? "It's been 12 years, Vegeta, she probably doesn't remember you in the slightest"? Why would _that_ be so?

(He would ignore that the thought of being forgotten also irritated him.)

He could feel it in his bones, she was preparing for their second meeting actively and the time would come for them to meet again. The encounter Raditz and Nappa had confirmed it—he reviewed the footage himself and he recognized that unique coloring, that pale softness tricking anybody into thinking she was meek. The look of _disgust_ and desire to cause pain he most definitely recognized. Oh, Vegeta had almost _laughed_ when she came onto the screen; it was only the Ginyu Force piled around him jeering and howling like idiots that kept him from doing so. It also dampened a lot of his enjoyment at rediscovering his old enemy with the leers and commentary they had about her physical appearance. What right did they have to gawk at her, anyway? He wanted to break Guldo's fiendishly grinning teeth in, rip out Jeice's foul tongue as he ran it over his lips watching her curves. Fine, he could acknowledge that she was a woman now, and an attractive ( _no, vulgar_ ) one, but she was _his target,_ and nobody should have been allowed to look at her like that.

Lascivious fools aside, the awareness that she remembered and came to _him_ essentially struck Vegeta with a morbidly humorous chord even the Ginyus couldn't ruin. And oh, irony of ironies, she was a Galactic Patroller now! There was no doubt that she remembered and acted on purpose, that glance she gave to Raditz proved it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

 _"Bulma."_ What a bizarre name. An innocent-looking (but dangerous) child with unreal levels of intelligence geared towards weaponry and defense grew up into…a vulgar woman that held herself with utmost arrogance. It seemed she had learned ki manipulation as well in the intervening years in addition to her weapons. The way she acted, too, looked to become _deliberately_ sadistic—which, honestly, Vegeta could respect that in a small way. It was a welcome change from the self-righteous toothless Patrollers.

Did she have to flaunt her vulgarity so openly, though?

 _…Feh,_ he was clearly getting distracted. The topic of the vulgar woman had been on his mind for an abnormal amount of time. Even Nappa had noticed the long periods of silence during his ruminations and dragged Vegeta to one of the brainless shows he enjoyed heckling. "The Monkey King and I"—how insulting, they even got a child and attached a fake tail to play the Monkey King. Nappa seemed to enjoy it, the buffoon, even though it was a blatant insult to the Saiyan race.

Thank whatever—surely there was no god out there—an intermission was called and Vegeta could concentrate on something besides an obnoxious moron hollering nonsense, and the play as well. He leaned back in the seat, eyes closed, feeling a little headache coming on as Nappa babbled about _how fun_ the whole thing was and _the kid is quite a good actor, huh?_ He couldn't even distract himself with his scouter as Nappa _insisted_ they obey the demand to shut off all communication devices during the showing. How dare anyone order them around?

"Vegeta?"

He opened his eyes, staring at Nappa disdainfully. "What do you want."

"Just wanted to know if you wanted to get more popcorn."

Now food was something Vegeta would never disagree to, though the popcorn itself was exorbitantly expensive and blander than even the swill served in the mess halls it was still something to keep his energy stable. He pushed himself up into a standing position, replacing his scouter over his eye where it belonged, though not turning it on because _blah blah blah please respect fellow patrons_. How much longer would he have to endure this hellish, uncouth show?

"What're ya thinkin' about, Vegeta?" the bald nuisance had to go and _ask_ him like he cared. (Sometimes it was difficult for Vegeta to convince himself he didn't, but Saiyans didn't _do_ caring.)

Vegeta looked up at him, opened his mouth to tell Nappa off with a searing insult when something caught the edge of his hearing and stopped him utterly in his tracks.

"Bulma. Bulma please—are…are you crying? Ahh, calm down!" the voice of a man said, sounding panicked.

"Dad? What's wrong with big sis?" the voice of a child asked.

 _…Bulma. **Her?!** Here?!_ But he wasn't ready—he wasn't prepared for a fight! Had she seen him yet? Vegeta looked around as if awaiting an attack and did what most dignified princes would do: dive behind a booth that displayed some obnoxious banner and peer out at the direction the voices were coming from.

Oh _._ She wasn't there. It was just the Monkey King brat and an older man speaking into a communicator. While he wrestled with a vague feeling he thought _might_ have been disappointment (but would insist was exasperation at wasting his time if asked), Nappa slid in next to him (though with his bulk and height the booth couldn't hide him as effectively). While Vegeta tried to examine the two who spoke _that name_ Nappa was asking something about what in the universe he thought he was doing. "Shut _up_ ," he hissed in reply, turning on his scouter to scan the lifeforms. As if the universe was actively spiting him that day by piling on the disappointments, their power levels were negligible; Vegeta huffed in dissatisfaction and squinted to get a better look at them.

"Vegeta. I can tolerate a lot of your teenage shenanigans, but—"

"I said _shut up_ , Nappa. Disobey me again and see what happens," he threatened, not taking his eyes off the targets. Despite the threat, Vegeta kept his tone low to avoid detection by the aliens in case they had better hearing than could be assumed by appearance.

The child had shed the armor and cloak part of the costume for the moment, keeping the pelt of the striped animal around her—the child was clearly a girl despite being the Monkey _King_ —waist. She had also taken off the gold circlet (barely perceptible from the tangled reddish black hair) and was holding it in her hands as she looked up at the man. That wasn't the most unusual part of the image, however, as Vegeta observed she had done…something to her eyes to make them gold but they were naturally blue— _just like **her**_ —and the man she called her father…

 _No, that couldn't be…_ "Nappa. Were you aware of any Saiyans besides us?"

They _both_ had the tails, the spiky black hair, but why were they so _weak_? Why had they not revealed themselves up until—?

"I've heard there was a Saiyan in the Galactic Patrol," Nappa answered, now looking up over the top of the booth to see. "Some kid that got lost years ago."

 _In the Patrol._ A Saiyan, some low-class filth, had the audacity to _hide_ from them the whole time. Not only that, he made a half-breed and joined the Patrol!

"Bulma…" The Saiyan's brow furrowed in a revolting show of sentimental concern.

 _And_ the scum was talking to _his target_!

Vegeta would have likely blown up in anger right then if the expression on the unknown man's face hadn't changed to something authoritative and stony (very much more Saiyan overall). "No," he said into the communicator, voice matching his appearance suddenly. "He took your victory and he made you cry. Don't chase after him unless…"

Vegeta and Nappa, somehow, found themselves waiting on tenterhooks for what he would say next. It was a very familiar line, if he was going to say what they thought…

The half-breed cut in, "Don't chase a man unless you're gonna kill him, big sis!"

The two blinked, hummed in pondering, glanced at each other. That was a strangely Saiyan value to uphold. All of that talk about _victory_ being taken away, too, screamed traditional Saiyan values. The way the stranger's tail struck out and grabbed the child by the wrist to hoist her up to be at eye level with him didn't, however, as usually a Saiyan parent would have smacked their brat. Instead he shushed her with, "Celrey, Bulma is in a delicate place right now."

But Saiyans didn't _do_ delicate.

Hold on—someone had _harmed_ her? Made her _cry_? Vegeta realized then he was grinding his teeth at the thought despite feeling Nappa's alarmed stare on him. _That's for **me** to do, no one else! Only me!_ Furious competitiveness boiled in his blood, tail hair standing on end in frustration. _Who did it?! I'll—_

"Make him _pay_ , Bulma," the Saiyan partially finished Vegeta's thought without realizing. "Every tear you shed, every indignity you suffered, all the time wasted. Everything. You know what to do already." An electric current appeared to pulse through him as he snarled, " _No mercy_ , understand? _None_."

As he grew more heated, the scouters beeped warnings of an increase in power level nearby. Nappa reacted first, wondering aloud if he was hiding his power and how he possibly accomplished that. Vegeta only watched the man finish his call, then crouch down to be at level with his daughter.

Then he looked _right_ in their direction, shocking a gasp out of Nappa and causing Vegeta to tense.

"I can sense you," he called with a maddeningly cool tone, contrasting sharply with the thinly veiled fury just a moment before. "Please, won't you join us?"

 

* * *

 

 

"Celrey," Tyber found himself saying what he wished to never say, shoving down the crushing anxiety that had been thrumming in his stomach since noticing the two. (Of course two, of course two of the _strongest_.) "This is Prince Vegeta and General Nappa."

It certainly was. For some reason they had been hiding behind a booth and watching them, he was able to sense their ki nearby. Since he finished his call with Bulma (and possibly gave the worst kind of advice a _human_ could have post breakup) he was able to concentrate on them. To be more accurate, _Vegeta_ had been concealing himself, Nappa stuck out quite obviously. The height of the man still shocked Tyber as he stood, how much he dwarfed the prince (who managed to look pompous and noble as if he _wasn't_ skulking around theaters like some disfigured shut-in). No, now that he thought of it, he knew why they were watching—Tyber was likely the first other Saiyan they had seen in years. He had done well with avoiding any contact with them up until then.

Celrey, eyes wide and hair flaring out of her ponytail from crackles of surprised ki (so much for indestructible hair ties), gaped at him in return. "Dad!"

"Go back to your mother, tell her I'll be along in a moment," he followed up, turning a stern look to his daughter.

"But Dad—"

" _Now_."

She shut her mouth and nodded, turning to leave. Tyber's eyes followed her to be sure she didn't suddenly pick a fight with the two Saiyans. "Ah, and put your glamour back on," he reminded. Celrey nodded again, more cheerfully this time, passing a hand over her eyes to change them from blue to gold. (Herans had a natural tendency towards magic and ki use, unlike most aliens, using a glamour was the first thing Gran taught the kids as it was the simplest.)

As she stepped away, Nappa called to her: "Hey, kid! I'm your biggest fan!"

Celrey only looked over her shoulder at him, not bothering to hide her disdain before sticking her tongue out and running off.

"Cute kid," Nappa then commented, leaning forward as if to get a better look at Tyber while he approached.

They stopped within a couple of feet of him. It still was too close for comfort. Vegeta said nothing, only watching him with expectation.

Tyber took a deep breath to compose himself, swallowed the lump in his throat, then knelt before them respectfully. It looked like it was meant for the two, but they all knew it was meant for Vegeta. "My prince," he said, words feeling clumsy and sour on his tongue—he had left the planet before Vegeta was even _born_ , he didn't think he'd ever meet him! (Tyber didn't _want_ to, at that.)

"Ah, you didn't want your daughter to see you groveling?" Vegeta sneered, nonetheless seeming pleased with the submissiveness. He gestured upwards with his hand, a signal that Tyber could resume standing.

He stood again despite his knees beginning to tremble, he willed himself to stop or at least make it so it wasn't _obvious_. "No, your highness." Even trying to keep himself from shaking, his nerves still buzzed at him with the agony of thousands of volts. The static in the air around him similarly seemed to _hang_ in anticipation of something awful happening. He couldn't channel it, even if he could Tyber would stand no chance. "I simply didn't want my daughter to be involved. She's young, and Saiyan children can be…blunt."

The implication that Tyber thought Celrey might say something incendiary and bring down Vegeta's wrath on her wasn't missed, Nappa rubbed at his chin and nodded. "I'll say," he chuckled in an unusual tone of…relation. "They're some mouthy little shits—but what about you, pal? You know who we are, but we've never had the pleasure of making your acquaintance."

Nappa had to have been…perhaps in his teens when Tyber fled the planet. He wouldn't have known either, just another faceless child sent out on a group mission with adults. "Nobody significant," he chose his words carefully to be sure they knew he understood their superiority to him. He didn't accept it, he hated it, but he understood it. For a moment Tyber reflected on how his life had been so blissful up until…well, meeting Bulma. But that improved. Then this happened. "Tyber is my name," he continued with a nod.

Apparently, his royal highness wasn't buying the "nobody of significance" act as he scoffed, rolling his eyes. (The gesture weirdly reminded him of Bulma then.) "You claim to sense ki without a scouter," he pointed out in a churlish tone.

He was right, but the tone and posture struck Tyber in a strange way that reminded him the prince couldn't be older than 19 presently. He was so young still, like Bulma, but in sharp contrast to her the universe had been unkind and wore him down in ways Tyber wished to protect her _and_ his children from. (Hell, Tyber would admit it, Bulma _was_ like his kid, he couldn't suppress that sentiment.) But if there was one thing Saiyans were taught to hate and reject more than sentiment, it was sympathy. He cautiously schooled his expression to neutral as he explained, "Yes, I can, your highness. It's...it's quite simple, though. I think you could pick it up without even trying."

Tyber wasn't sure he wanted Vegeta to be able to sense ki without relying on his scouter, though. At least with the scouter (to his horror, he realized it was off, thus nothing was transmitting in case something went wrong) there was a handicap however slight.

"And hiding your true power level?" Vegeta pressed, likely wary of empty flattery but nonetheless pleased at what a cooperative little subject Tyber was being.

Tyber tried not to let the fear show on his face—how did he know? Did he slip up in his control during the conversation? "The…the same, your highness." Keep breathing, he told himself, he couldn't let his breath become short or erratic. His tail remained tightly wrapped around his waist, too, so it wouldn't betray him with involuntary gestures. He wondered at the back of his mind if that was why Frieza's Saiyans ( _they are not fellow Saiyans, they are Frieza's soldiers_ ) kept their tails that way as well, it couldn't have been out of fear of the weakness being exploited. Children were trained out of that from a young age.

"I would say that's a little more than insignificant." The prince paused for effect, smirk turning into a nasty grin that was all teeth and sent Tyber's breathing into overdrive as if the dread was strangling him. " _Officer_ Tyber."

A shudder went up his spine, his tail bristled— _no, no no no, **how**? _ Ever the righthand man to Vegeta, Nappa mimicked the expression and prodded Tyber in the chest. It hurt. It was a simple poke, but it hurt. His tattoo burned at the contact, he hoped with increasing desperation that Zurui wouldn't investigate and understood what he meant by _I'll be along in a moment._

"I had heard a Saiyan joined the Patrol a couple of years ago," Nappa said, removing his finger only to replace it—much to Tyber's continued dismay—with an arm thrown around his shoulder as if they were comrades. "Never thought I'd meet him—hey pal, relax, you're turning pale."

Not only pale, a thin layer of sweat shivered all through his skin; his heart pounded painfully against his ribs, against his tattoo still burning in distress. _Don't come here, Zurui, don't._

"So, since you're a Patroller…" Nappa's smile turned less threatening (somehow he could accomplish that). "Know anything about the feisty blue-haired chick?"

(Had Tyber been looking, he would have noticed Vegeta give an odd questioning look to Nappa for bringing _her_ up.)

 _"Stay away from her,_ " Tyber, against his common sense and self-preservation skills, growled protectively. _You won't get her—you won't hurt her—neither of you, you horrible MONSTERS._ Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Vegeta's gaze flick between him and Nappa, who laughed and jostled him as if he had told a joke.

"Who is she to you, huh? Your daughter?" he teased, reaching up his free hand to grind his knuckles into Tyber's hair. "Your little one called her 'big sis' and everything."

He opened his mouth to say yes, and he wouldn't tolerate them being near her before Vegeta interrupted: "That's not possible, Nappa. She's from Earth."

 _He knows her?!_ Tyber's mind screamed in fearful agony as he turned completely rigid in the pressing gesture of the larger Saiyan. _How-how-how-how-how could this have happened—no—this can't be happening—I have to warn Bulma! I—I have to fight him! Keep that fucking monster away from her!_ "My…student," his mouth managed to numbly form the words, his fear now warring intensely with his protective fury and anxiety. _No,_ Tyber told himself. _Don't lose control, keep your ki under control—keep your body under control._ "Bulma is—is my student in the Patrol. I train her in combat."

( _No shit, Tyber, you're a Saiyan—what **else** would you be doing? _ his thoughts reprimanded.)

Then, as if he had reached the limit for how much stress he could take, Tyber's mind was silent. "…Please." His pride sank at the quiet voice that sounded nothing like his own, pathetically begging these _savages_ for anything—as if they had honor or compassion. "Please don't hurt her."

"Hey, I like her," Nappa claimed, finally releasing Tyber.

While he doubted the sincerity of Nappa's statement, Tyber found trying to keep himself steady was more of a demanding issue than outright calling the general of the former Saiyan armies a liar.

"She's funny, it'd be boring to crush someone like that so soon."

 _She's not a toy for you to play with!_ Tyber's mind howled in offense.

Any outrage he might have had sunk away at the sound of Vegeta laughing. It wasn't pleasant to hear—loud, wicked, joy in nothing but suffering. "Oh, please," he snorted, shaking his head condescendingly at the stupid lower class Saiyan who dared to talk back. " _Our_ encounter was determined long before you even met her. I still have to pay that vulgar woman back for her insult." Then, like a storm passing over, the amusement left, and he stared hard at Tyber. That piercing gaze, even from a man several years his junior, made Tyber feel as if he was going to faint. "At least you're teaching her Saiyan values and not being soft."

 _…Was. Was that praise?_ He wasn't certain, Saiyans didn't exactly _do_ praising. If Vegeta wasn't _Vegeta_ he would have clarified that he hardly had to outright _teach_ Bulma Saiyan values since she was naturally violent. _He doesn't have the right to even know she exists._

" _Don't_ ," Vegeta was suddenly right in front of him, poking him the same place Nappa had, ordering him around. "Tell her you met us. That would spoil the surprise of the game. Do you hear me? That's an order."

His tattoo burned again with pain _and_ rage as Tyber tried to keep his expression neutral. _An order! I don't obey you!_ he wanted to scream. _A **game**! This isn't a game!_

He might have, or at least said to stay away from Bulma again. Tyber was stopped by Vegeta continuing, "I do so _love_ families." The tone had all the sincerity of a predator speaking to its prey as it prepared to make the killing strike. "Keep quiet and I won't have to meet _yours_."

Tyber's anger vanished at the sight of the prince's cold, dark eyes. People often said _he_ had frightening eyes, and he could acknowledge he did, but they didn't compare to those bottomless wells lacking anything resembling mercy. _Say something. Tell him off! Tell him—no._ He had shown himself to be sentimental enough, he couldn't make it worse by revealing he had taken on a child that wasn't his with the same paternal embrace reserved for his children. _Bulma **is** my family, you can't have her _ faded from his mind and Tyber muttered, "…Yes, your highness." He finally collapsed to his knees, tail uncurling from around his waist to fall limp at his side, ki level dropping in despair. He was sick, so very sick, sickened at the betrayal he had cravenly fallen back on as the announcement that intermission was over droned over the speakers. It was all a dull buzz to him, heart pounding, sweating, he even missed the feel of their ki leaving him behind to go back and Zurui coming to retrieve him. She tried to comfort him, ask him what was wrong, but all he could think about was failure.

Tyber failed. He failed in the face of real danger, he lost his nerve and sacrificed an innocent life for the sake of his family. No—he sacrificed _one_ of his family for the rest.

_Traitor. Coward. Failure. **Weakling.**_

 

* * *

 

 

Some hours later and Nappa was still thinking of how they left that Saiyan Patroller, a broken and thoroughly petrified man. It should have been a satisfying image, especially for punishing a traitor, but honestly Nappa felt strange about the viciousness that Vegeta had treated Tyber with. He hadn't really _done_ anything actively traitorous, except it seemed he wanted very much to stand up against a superior and shield someone from…whatever Vegeta planned to do with the feisty one. They could theorize about why he was off-planet when the meteors hit, they could ponder why he was in the Galactic Patrol, they could even speculate on why he had never sought them out. Oh, wait, duh—of course Nappa knew why on the latter, because associating with them would be associating with Frieza, and _nobody_ wanted to be in Frieza's control (not even them). Point was, it didn't make much sense to be so harsh to a fellow Saiyan who had been nothing but polite (in a Saiyan way), he supposed Vegeta just felt better when he was controlling someone with fear. He might also have been bitter that someone got away and dared to live a peaceful life. _Can't be very much peaceful, we're all slaves to Frieza in the end. Even Vegeta should know that._

Nappa wasn't one to leave things the way they were when he found them, usually he made them worse, but seeing the _first Saiyan_ besides the other two in several years brought him to a pause. This had to be considered carefully. Something that felt like…understanding about the man's circumstances moved Nappa to seek him.

He found Tyber after the show ended standing at the back with a woman he assumed was the mother of his half-breed and the little toughie herself. They looked happy and relaxed, which must have meant none of them (he assumed Tyber wasn't the only one who could sense ki) knew he was there yet. No wonder he was especially paranoid of any Saiyan discovering him, he wanted to guard his little mixed family from prying judgmental eyes. Truthfully Nappa didn't care about mixed marriages, nobody back on planet Vegeta did—marriages were uncommon anyway (besides the royal family that _did_ discourage mixing outside of special circumstances). As far as the topic of things like that were concerned it was: find compatible Saiyans, put their cells together in the incubator, boom instant brat. So long as there were some brats gestating, who really cared what the sires and dams did in their personal lives. The incubators cut down on a lot of the difficulty of childbearing that disagreed with a Saiyan's violent nature. If Nappa had to put it in his own terms he would say: "hey you found an alien that you can fuck and can give you a child. Good for you."

Tyber seemed to have found a rare species anyway, Nappa could recognize right away besides his usual measurement of "almost like a Saiyan, but—"; the light teal skin, knowing eyes, and curly dark orange hair screamed that the woman was a Heran. He had heard that there were some pockets of nomadic groups after the destruction of Hera, but they mostly minded their own business. She was, to put it bluntly, a stunning specimen, he could even ignore that he thought pointed ears looked stupid and commend Tyber for having good taste in women. Their child displayed no Heran traits besides her mother's blue eyes and if he was guessing right the ability to use magic, besides that she looked like a regular Saiyan whelp. Tyber looked like a regular Saiyan as well, albeit his hair didn't stick out as ridiculously as some he had known. The… _guarded_ way he held himself was even starting to become an accepted Saiyan trait by Nappa post destruction of their planet.

Then again, to be fair to Tyber, he had every reason to be on guard after the encounter with Vegeta and his coldblooded ultimatum—the girl's safety or his family's. That confirmed Nappa's suspicion at least that Vegeta _did_ remember his childhood run-in with the gutsy Patroller, he just kept quiet about the whole thing while he observed and plotted. _Whatever_ he planned to do next, Nappa would press him about that later. For the present, Tyber was staring directly at him and was most likely anticipating an attack. Instead, Nappa held up his hand in greeting to the family. Tyber, not feeling as charitable, responded by pulling the two females behind him and continuing to stare.

Ah, that was a gesture he recognized: territorial. _"Hey asshole, you touch what's mine and I'll fucking kill you"—_ the classic Saiyan maneuver when someone earned their devotion.  Nappa approached regardless, holding his hands open-palmed at his sides to show the other Saiyan he had no intentions of starting a fight. He smiled, though on Saiyans those tended to look more like smirks, he remembered at least to not show his teeth.

Tyber's tension did not ease up despite the careful consideration he was employing, but he did acknowledge the cues with a narrowing of his eyes. "Nappa," he said with a short nod, tone all business. "What can I do for you?"

"Hey, pal," Nappa responded, stopping a few feet from the three. "Relax, Vegeta isn't with me."

He did not relax. Apparently, he was unfamiliar with the concept. Or at least around another Saiyan he _wouldn't_. Nappa was so focused on what Tyber was doing he didn't notice at first the piercing eyes of the Heran glaring at him over the Patroller's shoulder. The gaze was full of intent, aggression, suspicion—Nappa suspected that if he _did_ aim to start a fight, Tyber's woman would join the fray in an instant. Not that it surprised him, the people of Hera were capable of combat almost on par to Saiyans. Besides, what good was a mate that didn't support their partner in battle?

"It was Tyber, right?" Nappa forged through the awkwardness of how clearly the man he was attempting conversation with despised him. (Not that it bothered him, conversations just tended to get dull when they fell into the _"you monster blah blah blah"_ thing.) "I just wanna talk, ask some things." First, he gestured to the woman boring a hole in his head with her glare, "Your woman?"

"My _wife_ ," Tyber corrected tersely, canting his head to the side to indicate her. "Zurui, General Nappa."

"Charmed," Zurui said, the loveliness of her voice overpowered by the layers of sarcasm, raising her chin as if she was set to give a warning to Nappa.

"Pleasure's all mine," Nappa retorted with equal levels of sarcasm. (He could appreciate the woman's sassiness nonetheless, quite suitable for the spouse of a Saiyan.) "And drop the 'general' thing, would ya? Planet's been gone for years now, I'm not the general anymore." Ignoring the shrug and distant look in Tyber's eyes at the mention of their planet, he got to the heart of what he wanted to know: "How old are you?"

Sure, Tyber was younger than him just going by appearance, but Nappa bet credits to crullers that there was no way he could have been as young as Vegeta or Raditz, especially not if he had a kid. It was a self-serving question, in truth, he was so used to being around Saiyan teens the first sight of an adult Saiyan in years sparked something like relief.

Tyber, having no context, just looked at him strangely for a long moment. "…Galactic Standard, I'm 32 years old," he eventually answered, raising an eyebrow despite the commitment he had to remaining outwardly composed until then.

Nappa heaved a great sigh, " _Finally_ , another Saiyan that isn't a _kid_." A ten-year age difference wasn't that bad, Tyber wasn't a _teenager_ thank whatever gods were out there.

Again, left with no context, Tyber frowned—not the mistrustful frowning he had been doing, the confused kind of frown that created a line between his eyebrows and made him look like he was learning a foreign language. "Excuse me?"

His daughter—Celrey, if Nappa was remembering correctly, a good Saiyan name—took the moment as an opportunity to leap out in front of her parents and point the prop she was holding at level with Nappa's chest. "Leave my dad alone, you ogre!"

Ah, a spunky one, and she was threatening him, how cute.

" _Celrey_." Tyber continued his scolding in another language, from how he stood and gestured Nappa was able to get the gist that he was ordering a return to her original position. He assumed also that Tyber was speaking the Heran language.

 _How lucky for them_ , he thought, not entirely certain if it was genuine gladness or regretful irritation. _They were able to hold onto their language. Maybe their whole culture, too._

As far as Nappa knew, some of the Saiyan language was lost after planet Sadala met its end. Sure, some of the older folks like his meemaw still spoke and wrote it, but over time it started to fade away on planet Vegeta. It didn't help that Frieza was encouraging scrubbing out all traditions and conforming to Galactic Standard. Shame, really, Saiyans had nothing left of them besides discolored memories and pride that they held onto for the sake of _having._

"I'm not going to hurt you," Nappa tore himself away from his thoughts to explain, expression turning serious as he looked at his fellow Saiyan. "You or your family. I wanted to just go out for a drink some time and talk."

Vegeta and Raditz would be shocked to hear Nappa speaking with such diplomacy—surprise, that was one of _his_ duties as the man closest to the King. Saiyans may have powered through _most_ things with brute strength, but they did value what allies they made like the races more suited towards non-combat (but still culturally needed) activities.

"Just us adults." He presented his scouter, turned off so nobody could hear what was being said. "Can I exchange numbers with you?"

Tyber took a deep breath, exhaled, stared at Nappa still with that wariness of a prey animal. Despite what was undoubtedly a long deliberation stained with paranoia and anxiety, he took out his communicator and stepped forward to put the devices in range to one another.

"Promise me," he said suddenly before Nappa could push the button to turn his scouter back on. Tyber's unblinking stare as he looked right at him was honestly quite intense for a sentimental Saiyan, even Nappa could admit that. "Promise me, on your honor, my family stays out of your path."

 _Please don't kill my family_ was the message, Nappa got that loud and clear. He frowned, expecting there to be some other catch. "I can't promise that for Vegeta," he pointed out.

"I understand. Prince Vegeta controls himself."

Nappa had to give a hand it to Tyber, he didn't shudder at the mention of Vegeta. His family must have meant a lot to him. He supposed being away from the planet gave Tyber the freedom to be as sentimental as he pleased. _Freedom sounds nice_ , he mused with a feeling that he was almost sure was wistfulness before shaking himself out of the weak thoughts. "I promise." He thumped his free hand to his chest, an old Saiyan gesture of intent. "Nobody in your family will be harmed by me, on my honor as a Saiyan."

Tyber left himself out of that promise, though. He suspected it was purposeful, which was smart in its understanding that Saiyans would be Saiyans regardless. He didn't have intentions of fighting Tyber himself, unless he wanted to spar or train, but that didn't mean the other two wouldn't attack out of vindictiveness.

He finally thumbed the button to turn the scouter back on, noticing that Tyber's expression had changed to…something like gratitude? Honestly, he wasn't used to people looking at him with anything but fear or hatred. It felt funny. "Thank you," Tyber said with a small smile.

 _Damn_. He wasn't used to being sincerely thanked, either. Or making promises to _not_ kill. If Nappa wasn't careful, he would start becoming sentimental too. "Hey, pal, relax. It's just some casual drinking."

At least it eased up some aggression, though the odd little family still watched him with suspicion as he turned to leave. It was to be expected, passing at being benevolent all of once in decades of being a bastard wasn't going to magically gain anyone's friendship. Nappa was satisfied regardless, finally he had someone to talk to whenever he felt like that wasn't involved in the Frieza Force or Saiyan brats.

Speaking of Saiyan brats…Vegeta was giving him an impatient look when he arrived at the hangar where their pods were stationed. "What _took_ you so long?" he scoffed, already shutting the door to his pod so Nappa wouldn't be able to say anything.

(Not that he wanted to anyway, it would have just been a lame excuse like "got lost on the way to the bathroom" or "my tail got stuck in a door" and Vegeta would call him an idiot, big shocker.)

Trying to talk to Tyber and convince him that while he _was_ a threat he wasn't interested in threatening his family would be easier than the subject he was about to broach with Vegeta. Nappa was in no way going to hint that he _knew_ why the girl had become Vegeta's prey (it wasn't like he just became fixated on a stranger from security footage, that was more of a Raditz thing) but he had to think of something. It took a moment of consideration until Nappa opened a private communication channel directly between their pods. "What did you mean by that, Vegeta?" he asked, playing dumb (many would say he didn't have to pretend, har-dee-har like he never heard _that_ before). "About the girl?"

"We've met," was his curt reply.

 _Don't make a joke, Nappa, don't do it._ "…And what, did you ask her out and get rejected or something?"

All right, he couldn't help it. That was a joke in itself, however, as Nappa was fairly sure Vegeta would respond to rejection with murder. The usual thing he did to save face.

Vegeta didn't appreciate the joke and carried on as if he hadn't said anything, "We were children. Raditz dragged me on some fool's errand to Earth and she shot him."

 _Wow._ Honestly Nappa was surprised he outright admitted it. Of course, Vegeta left out any reference to himself being scared shitless, but one miracle was enough.

"I was taken aback at the time, but I can respect an opponent who stood up so readily to us," the prince said with that familiar haughty tone. "She told me she had made that weapon herself, the blast was enough to knock Raditz unconscious."

 _Did you mean to say: "I nearly pissed myself in fear, but actually I was into that"?_ Nappa thought but didn't say, venturing the one question he wanted the answer to: "You gonna kill her?" There was a hint of disappointment to his tone as he asked, it would have been a terrible waste to kill someone so entertaining after all.

"No," Vegeta chuckled as if Nappa told a joke (one he actually found funny, at that). "She shot Raditz but was foolish enough to act like I wasn't even a threat. While it was _pleasant_ talking to someone with a degree of intelligence above abysmal, I can't leave that humiliation without answer."

 _Huh?_ He wasn't going to kill her (at least not right away) but was pursuing her anyhow? And what was that about calling her a fool for _not_ attacking him? God, Vegeta's logic was so twisted sometimes. With the perspective Raditz gave, as well, he knew Vegeta was lying through his teeth about finding the conversation with the girl _pleasant_. He just didn't want to cop to looking foolish and afraid of an inferior lifeform, even if he _was_ six or seven at the time. "Are you playing games again, Vegeta?" Nappa sighed.

"She's mine to toy with, she sealed her fate that day."

Something in his tone caused Nappa to freeze, struck with a feeling like his fight or flight sense was being set off (with an un-Saiyan leaning towards flight) and…pride? Vegeta talked about it like it was vengeance, at the same time he spoke with a sort of fondness to his voice as if he was legitimately excited to meet with the girl again and start her torment. If he were anybody besides the arrogant Saiyan prince Nappa might have interpreted it as an infatuation. It sort of counted as being interested in women, he supposed, it just happened that he had been stuck on the memory of one woman for over twelve years.

Not that he could call Vegeta out on that, he was only interested in learning _what_ he was going to do with the Patroller, not teasing him about it. That and…he _could_ have still been misinterpreting what Vegeta meant by toying with her. His…err…playful streak came out at unpredictable times but became less boyish and cute as he got older (like his idea of retaliation would be pulling the girl's hair and saying she was dumb at the time). The games he played became exercises in needless cruelty (yes, even for a Saiyan) after a while. Nappa hesitated to openly question any of his actions, even if he did find himself simply asking " _why_?" every now and then. The prince's mind was so complicated, the scariest thing about him yet—he was far more intelligent than the average Saiyan, it _almost_ outweighed any tendencies towards being shortsighted and overconfident.

Almost.

"Be careful," Nappa found himself cautioning despite knowing telling Vegeta to do anything was the best way to make him fly off the handle to do the direct opposite of what he was told. "She's a Patroller, after all. Frieza wouldn't want you messing with her too much."

"That's part of the challenge, Nappa. That's what makes the game _fun_."

There was that tone again. Oh, well, at least Vegeta had something to focus on besides work for once. Nappa reminded himself to tell Raditz later that he didn't have to worry about the girl being killed before he could question her. At the same time, there was a coldness in his stomach that he understood to be something resembling pity towards the unfortunate victim of two hotheaded Saiyan youths. _They couldn't want the same girl for normal reasons, oh no, it just has to be about revenge and familial sentiments, doesn't it?_ He knew life wasn't like the plays he watched, but damned if he didn't think life would be simpler sometimes if it was. At least in the world of plays things could be solved with a song and a couple of punches.

****

* * *

 

 

Yamcha was calm and reasonable when he laid out his reasons behind saying they needed a break as a couple. They were all the things she was going to say to him.

That was what pissed Bulma off so much. That, and on a more flawed human level, she was hurt, hurt enough to turn away from him and fly home rather than answer. He called for her to wait, she was leaving him and the car behind, _"let's talk about this!"_

Bulma couldn't hear anything over the dull roar in her ears as tears streaked down her face. Humiliation, sadness, and anger churned around in her mind, fighting for dominance. She found herself in her room, pressing her face into her pillow to suppress the sobs. Her hand automatically reached for the communicator on her nightstand, she wasn't sure how she ended up calling Tyber after that. She might have meant to call Tahaya. At the same time, something in Bulma burned with the need to _fight_ , not reflect maturely and quietly.

Who better to encourage this than her combat teacher?

_"He took your victory…make him **pay**."_

Leave it to a Saiyan to say such things, and for what she assumed was his child insisting one never chases a man without intent to kill. Bulma didn't want to kill Yamcha, but she understood the message: don't chase him trying to get back the attention that was no longer there.

He had a lot of nerve, or maybe his fight-happy brain took one too many knocks. How could he spend all that time being so perfect only to…?

 _He wanted to soften the blow,_ her intellectual side said. _He was trying to be gentle._

 _…He **pitied** me,_ her emotional side snarled, turning raw and animalistic. _I'm **Bulma fucking Briefs** , I don't need his PITY!_

She imagined Tyber telling her to watch her language then, Mosto adding to take a deep breath. Meditation was certainly the best way to calm the tendencies towards violence, even consumed with the desire for payback.

Her mind would not be quieted by meditation, however, but a soft touch on her shoulder. Launch, concern shining in her eyes despite being in her blonde form, had slipped into Bulma's room. Launch moved her hand from Bulma's shoulder to pet her hair, in a similar way Tahaya had done before she left to come back to Earth. "What happened, Bulma?" she asked, voice uncharacteristically soft for her current form. "Are ya hurt?"

"I'm _very_ hurt," Bulma couldn't help replying, leaning into her friend's touch. "Yamcha…"

Immediately, a stormy look passed over Launch's face and she growled, "What'd he do?!"

She couldn't ignore that she felt touched by how fervently Launch cared about her well-being even at the expense of a mutual friend. Bulma forced a smile, shaking her head and pulling herself up in a sitting position. "It's okay, Launch. He just…did what I wasn't brave enough to do myself."

"Brave!" Launch barked, removing her hand to punch her fist into her open palm. "He's just as much of a coward, what with goin' around pretendin' like things were okay!" She seemed to catch the implication of what Bulma meant, balling both hands into fists now. "Where is he? Lemme go rearrange his face!"

"No," Bulma said with a firm shake of her head. "…I'm going to."

All at once, the anger and melancholy in the air dissipated and the two shared a secret smile as if they were at a slumber party and discussing boys. Only this was about beating up boys.

"Can I watch?" Launch asked, voice almost a whisper like she didn't want anybody to hear. "I've been _dyin'_ to see what you learned out in space."

"You'll cheer me on?" Bulma asked back, smile widening mischievously.

"Damn right I will!" she cheered, punching the air. "Teach _him_ to go around playin' with your heart!"

She knew already that this form of Launch seemed to carry a distrust towards men, Bulma didn't know that she would graciously extend the protectiveness reserved for herself if prompted. She was still such an enigma in the end, but Bulma was happy they were friends regardless. The women took the time to make sure Bulma's face was no longer splotchy and covered in make-up marked tear tracks before venturing out to the halls of Capsule Corp. Launch held onto Bulma's arm protectively as they walked, as if she feared her friend falling over.

"Launch," Bulma ventured to ask. "How have you been doing with the journal thing?"

"Great," she grinned carelessly at her. "I've been rememberin' a whole lot more now! I even remember that thing you told us 'bout Goku a few days ago, that he's an alien. Figured somethin' was up, like, no boy is that pure for no reason."

She laughed in reply, giving Launch a light shove, "Hey, come on! _Anybody_ is going to act like they don't know a damn thing if they're raised out in the mountains!"

"Yeah, but bein' from Jupiter helps!"

"It's _Vegeta_."

"Oh my god—hahaha, _Vegeta_ bles."

They laughed and chattered about various things while they first stopped at Launch's room to retrieve her journal, where she wrote down: " **Bulma's gonna beat up Yamcha** " and underlined it several times. Bulma noticed that the handwriting present was jagged from pressing a pencil down, while the handwriting at the top of the page dated 12/24/751 was daintier and in immaculate cursive. It meant Launch was consistent (even if not in personality or handwriting), which felt good to know that she contributed in such a rewarding task for her. "Hey, be sure to explain _why_ I'm doing it!" she teased, nudging Launch who laughed in return and said she was getting to that just be patient.

Yamcha's ki signature meandering into her senses interrupted any continued playful antics. Much to what Bulma assumed was abject shock from Launch, she ran to the window of the room and opened it to jump out. "Hey! I thought you weren't that good with flyin' yet!" Launch shrieked in alarm, moving to stop her friend from splattering herself on the grounds of her own home.

Bulma only smirked roguishly over her shoulder, ki sparking to life as the wind blew through her hair. " _Watch me_ ," she challenged, stepping up to the balcony, holding out her arms, and tipping herself over. Instantly, her ki caught her in its peaceful embrace and held her in the air, waiting for what direction she commanded. Bulma sought out her ex's ki and shot like a strike of lightning down to the car he had parked on the grounds.

He cried out in alarm at her sudden appearance, backing against the car as if she had a gun in her hands and was set to rob him. "B-Bulma!" he breathed in relief. "Holy crap, you scared me—I was so worried when you—"

"Yamcha," Bulma interrupted, touching down and fixing a serious look onto him, hands on her hips in an act of defiance. "It's time for you to listen to me right now."

His mouth was left open in surprise, gaping openly at her, hands finding his jacket pockets to clumsily stuff them into. "Bulma…I _always_ listen to you," Yamcha eventually argued with the tone of not entirely believing what he was saying.

Bulma wanted to shoot back that he just let her talk _at_ him and probably didn't actually listen or engage her thoughts. Her intellectual side reminded her that she most likely _talked too much_ and left no room for engagement. She left it alone, shaking her head, and continued: "I agree that we should take a break. You're right that we're going in completely different directions."

Just like Tahaya elucidated, lighting up her young and immature emotions with uncomfortable clarity, Yamcha gaped in shock and distress. "You…you think so…?"

She wasn't sure if his biggest surprise was from her saying he was right or disbelief that what was happening was _real_. Bulma smiled sadly, relaxing her posture into crossing her arms and looking down at the ground. "I've thought about what we talk about…what we have in common, what we _like_ about each other. I couldn't think of anything." She supposed Yamcha appreciated that she was beautiful, but Bulma didn't need anybody to tell her _that_ or to simply ogle her. She didn't need an admirer. "You're really…nice," Bulma admitted. "You're nice to everyone, and I like that about you, but you're also passive and I'm jealous and impulsive."

"H-hey, there's nothing wrong with being jealous sometimes…" Yamcha sighed.

How strange that he was trying to spare her feelings even while she was agreeing with what he told her before. "Yamcha. I _am_ jealous, I'm very jealous, I've thought a couple of times that you were cheating on me."

"Bulma!" he gasped, eyes widening in a look of outrage. "H-how could you? I wouldn't—"

"It's because you're friendly, Yamcha," Bulma interrupted, growing a little impatient at how he continued to try and interject despite it being _her_ turn to talk. "You can socialize all you want with people, I can't, you know? I'm Bulma Briefs, heiress to Capsule Corporation, do you _know_ how many people try to sneak up on me for one reason or another?" Sure, he was popular for his martial arts prowess and even his budding baseball career, but Yamcha didn't have a family with _influence_ like she did.

That time he didn't answer, expression dropping into helpless confusion at her confession of feeling lonely even around other people; she wasn't sure if he was thinking about the implication that there were people who would wish her dead or would attempt to manipulate her charitable side. It did occur to her that she had told none of her friends about the downsides of the glamorous life of wealth and renown. She really shared nothing of her innermost concerns, the brush-offs and judgements from other scientists at first assumption, people believing they could influence her since she was just _a stupid little rich girl_. Perhaps something really _was_ wrong with her in the end and joining the Patrol was her own form of escape.

_Never mind._

"…I'm just different from other people, Yamcha, I always have been. I want…someone that I don't doubt. That _gets_ me. And you're not that. And you want a nice girl that will want to get married and have children with you someday, settle down to be your wife and all that. I'm not that girl."

It would be nice, but something in her just didn't feel called to a life of peaceful domesticity. She knew Yamcha had wanted to get married since before they even met, it was his heart's desire that withstood even his most fickle tendencies.

"Bulma, you're plenty nice!" Yamcha said, balling his hands into fists. "You're a great girl! Don't say things like that!"

"I know I'm great, but I treat you like crap, Yamcha. How can you say I'm _nice_?" Bulma retorted, shaking her head at him. Honestly, he was being foolish trying to preserve her feelings while she was trying to be serious. "All I've ever wanted out of life was adventure and romance, just like in the stories I would read. Well…now I'm in the Galactic Patrol having my adventure there sans romance, but I think…I'm okay without the romance." She smiled, arms dropping to gesture at him. "You're right, we're not working out as a couple and would be better off as friends."

He waited for her to continue, mouth opening and closing in numb amazement. Yamcha wasn't used to such maturity and introspection from Bulma, she knew, her intellectual side was winning out for the moment. "But," she began, emotional side coming back to remind her of how angry she was about the whole thing. "You _led me on_ this week acting like everything was okay."

The hurt in her tone was unmistakable, Yamcha helplessly sighed with a sad face. "I'm sorry, Bulma. I'm sorry for that—"

"So, fight me," Bulma grunted, shifting her position into a fighting stance.

"…Um. What?"

" _Fight me_ ," she insisted. "I'm pissed and dishonored by your bullshit, Yamcha, let's fight."

"I—I can't—" He held up his hands in front of himself, looking at Bulma as if she had completely lost her mind.

"Coward!" Launch yelled from her balcony, watching over the two as if she was in a box seat at a theater. "What kinda martial artist are ya? Fight!"

"She's a _girl!_ " Yamcha shot back at Launch.

A shudder of resentment went through Bulma, Launch glowered back at the declaration silently mouthing curses at him for saying something so ridiculous.  She wasn't going to lie, she _did_ understand the line of thought, Bulma would admit to falling back on it herself back when she was younger. Tyber worked that out of her quickly, however, with a cool reminder that her gender was irrelevant to people trying to kill her and always would be. The antiquated Earth concepts seemed foreign to her now that she had touched the border between Earth life and the galaxy as a whole with her curious fingers.

"Is that so, Yamcha?" Bulma inquired, tone dangerously low. She stood up straight again and stepped forward to her friend. His shoulders stiffened as if believing she was ready to strangle him, a hesitant step back to avoid being completely overtaken by her. She laid her hands on his shoulders gently, placid smile in place. "Am I really that different from any other opponent?"

" _Of course_ ," he insisted, shaking his head. "Bulma, I don't doubt your teacher's good, but I've got a lot more experience than you, and—"

Faster than anyone could guess what was going to be said next, Bulma spun Yamcha around so his back was facing her. From there she grabbed the tails of his mustard-yellow jacket ( _I've always hated this stupid thing!_ ) and pulled it up over his head. Ignoring his cries of protest and Launch's encouraging hollers, she flipped up and over to face his front again pulling the jacket along with her and tying it over his head and arms like a sack. "You do, _huh_ , Yamcha?" Bulma taunted, pulling the knot tight and swinging her fists at the makeshift punching bag. "Really?!"

All Yamcha could do in response to the unexpected maneuver was back away, struggling to get the jacket off while being pummeled by his ex. "I—Bulma, _stop,_ you win!"

She stopped then, finding herself strangely unfulfilled and wishing she didn't have to. It would have been exciting to see how he reacted to her trick, to _really_ fight a more experienced martial artist on equal ground. But, as always, Yamcha was too gentle, too nice, too traditional to even think of hitting a girl no matter how poorly the girl had treated him over the years. She sighed and stood back, watching him with her hands on her hips.

"Wuss!" she heard Launch call, followed by a sneeze as some pollen flew by on the wind leaving Blue Launch to wonder why Yamcha was struggling his way out of his tangled-up jacket.

After Bulma disentangled her helpless ex and directed him back inside, he humorously sighed that Puar was going to be mad at him for messing things up. Bulma responded that she doubted it, the little guy would always be on his side no matter what. "Hey..." Yamcha groaned, giving her a pained look (not just for the black eye he was now sporting) as Launch came to join them. "Don't say that, he's your friend, too."

"Mmhm." Bulma merely took Launch by the arm to lead her out to the lush heart of the Capsule Corp. building so they could be alone to consider what had just happened.

"So…" Launch asked when they settled on one of the many garden chairs among the wildlife Bulma's father tended to and the plants her mother doted on. "Did you…hurt Yamcha very badly?"

Bulma raised an eyebrow at her friend. "You saw it happen, Launch, you wrote it down in your journal. Hell, you _told_ me to beat the crap out of him, pretty much."

Launch bit her lip, casting her eyes to the side with discomfort. "I don't…remember that at all."

"But…you were just telling me that you were remembering things so much better now," she protested, taken aback by the apparent backslide in progress. No, Bulma realized then, _the other_ Launch had said that. She was still acting so strangely about considering her other side, an aspect of herself she didn't want to fathom, one that she called "bad" as if Blonde Launch had no redeeming qualities. "Launch…? Do you think that other side of you exists because of something you're holding back?" Bulma pressed despite realizing this was _no_ time for openly theorizing.

"Don't say things like that!" Launch protested, looking horrorstruck at the very idea.

 _…Huh._ But why? "Yamcha broke up with me…you took care of me and wanted to beat him up yourself for what he did…Launch, that other you isn't a bad person at all," she tried to explain, reaching out and taking her hand. "She's kinda like, you know, a dose of bitter truth we all need sometimes, right?"

 _Like a way for Launch to act in ways a "good girl"—sweet, passive, there for people to look at and coo over—wouldn't act, to stand up for herself and others…_ What happened to Launch in her past to make her reject the idea of acting like anything but a "good girl"?

"It's fine…" Launch trailed off, looking on the verge of hyperventilating. "Just…just tell me what Yamcha did—all that's in the journal right now is…lots of bad words."

"All right. All right, Launch…"

 

* * *

 

~~ Age 751 ~~

Age 752

 

 

Tyber was quieter than usual when Bulma came back in January; he seemed to avoid her gaze entirely with an almost guilty look, not even speaking while they trained. She tried to question Mosto but only received a headshake in return, he didn't know, he couldn't get a read on what was wrong with the Saiyan.

It certainly didn't change his training, in fact her teacher seemed to be more brutal than last year, slackening his limiters and throwing her into the new gravity room for a brawl. She couldn't even properly appreciate or introduce him to the masterpiece she had brought into existence as he just grunted at her that Kadab already showed him everything. What a waste, she grumbled to herself—and she spent all that time working on it, making sure there was plenty of space to move around, proper ventilation, cooling when needed, sensors to take vitals, emergency shutoffs, vocal commands, just to name a few features. He only switched it on to combat level two right away and told her the same thing as before, _worry about yourself._

 _Geez._ Apparently, the new year didn't make him less of a jerk! The other Patrollers were equally mystified as to what was wrong since Tyber wouldn't speak to them as well, they simply shrugged it off and said it was probably just close to a full moon and leave him be.

No hint for what was happening came until the hectic rush of January stretched into the great grey beast known as February while Bulma prepped for a searching mission with Jaco. She spotted Mosto and Tyber in the hangar, deep in conversation, and hid behind Jaco's ship, pushing her ki level down to zero.

"…No matter how much I train her, I just can't prepare her for _him_." Tyber's posture was as tense as his voice, pain and defeat written all over his face, immediately altering Bulma to the emotional turmoil he was wrestling with.

Mosto shook his head sympathetically. "Come now…she's stronger than you think. She's clever, she has a will to live. Even someone like that couldn't defeat her, no matter how strong he is."

 _Her? Him? Who the hell are they talking about?_ Bulma thought with a twist of her mouth. Did they mean her? Then who was the "him" they were discussing? Mosto wouldn't have told Tyber about her encounter as a child, or her rebellious thoughts about Frieza. She had no intention of fighting Frieza, the Saiyans possibly (only if they gave her trouble), but not Frieza.

"But he's—!" Tyber protested, voice cracking in distress, stopped by Mosto raising his hand.

"I'm well aware who _he_ is, now do you know who _she_ is?"

Jaco took the opportunity to completely ignore what she was doing and pat Bulma on the shoulder, telling her to quit spacing out and it was time to leave. She grumbled, but climbed into the ship nonetheless, still worriedly watching her two teachers standing across from each other through the window as Jaco piloted their way out.

So Tyber was worried about some opponent Bulma might or might not face in the future, that was why he had been acting so unforgiving? Nothing added up in her head no matter how much she thought it over, it didn't even occur to her to ask Jaco just _what_ or _who_ they were looking for on the trip. She tried to puzzle it out, creating links between herself and…him. _But who is him?_ _The long-haired Saiyan?_ _Tyber wouldn't have known about that, though…I don't even know **that** guy's name, and he doesn't know mine either!_ Assuming he even remembered, again, would he not have come back to Earth and hunted her down already? She leaned her elbow on the armrest, cheek in her hand as she thought it over.

After a while, finding the pursuit fruitless, Bulma asked: "Jaco? What exactly are we looking for?"

"Not a what," Jaco answered, deftly swinging the ship around to land on a barren-looking planet. "A who, there's been a string of planetary desolations lately."

"Isn't that just Frieza's men?" Bulma huffed, rolling her eyes. "I thought we left _them_ alone."

Surprisingly, Jaco shook his head, the ship darkened for a moment as their landing kicked up a cloud of dust, creating eerie shadows over the pair. "No, the people are just… _gone_ , the whole planets are left dried up. There's nothing left, except…" His tone was so serious for a moment, Bulma found herself with her breath caught in her throat waiting for what he would say after that. Disappointingly, he straightened up and opened the hatch, saying that there was no time to waste _talking_ about it and they had to seek out their man right away. Bulma groaned, blowing a piece of hair out of her eyes at being denied answers once again. Jaco was such an infuriating creature to deal with, even the disturbing details of what was happening to the planets couldn't quell her irritation about that.

The planet's barren landscape looked to be from a desert environment, however, she noticed when she stepped out. She frowned distastefully at the dust already gathering around her feet and kept walking, scanning around to see what she could pick out with her eyes.

By all accounts, Bulma wasn't expecting to trip over a corpse.

She wasn't expecting the corpse to be staring _right at her_ , eyes rolled up in its head, mouth agape in frozen horror. After she was done screaming, alerting Jaco to come back to her side, she realized the corpse was wearing a scouter and…

"Holy comets, I thought you were being attacked!" her comrade scoffed, kicking some dust at the corpse as if to spite it for scaring Bulma. "…This, uh…huh." He tilted his head at the body, expression unreadable as always but slowly gaining traces of realization. "…Bulma."

"Yeah?"

"I'm not crazy, right? This guy is dressed like a Frieza Force member, right?"

"…Yeah, he certainly is."

"…Okay. Our man is _definitely_ not here."

 

* * *

 

 

"Hey, Vegeta? Raditz? I'm not crazy, you guys heard screaming, too, right?"

Vegeta didn't bother answering Nappa, coolly turned away, sitting on a rock as if he was taking a rest. Raditz knew he was in no way tired, a simple purge mission would never be enough to wind Vegeta. He shrugged, brushing himself off as he faced Nappa, "I heard it, yes, it was probably someone in death throes giving up the ghost."

"Was that a pun, Raditz?" Nappa grinned at him, making Raditz realize his mistake and slap his hand to his forehead.

"I didn't—! Dammit!" he groaned.

Before he could agonize over the unintentional pun, Vegeta stood up with a grunt, " _Quiet_!"

The two Saiyans stopped, staring over at Vegeta in confusion. "What's the matter?" Raditz asked despite half-believing that the prince was doing nothing more than throwing another temper tantrum over something inane. After the silence fell over all three, he came to realize that there were voices just over the hill—they didn't sound like the _former_ inhabitants of the planet, something about one was familiar.

"Come on, Bulma, we have to go _now_! There's Frieza Force members here!" a male voice urged.

Raditz felt the hair on his tail bristle, his head snapped over to Vegeta who was watching the hill with great agitation, tail uncharacteristically unwound and lashing. Since Nappa informed him that he _did_ remember The Girl and had…something, playing some obscure game to amuse himself but not killing her immediately, Raditz had felt a quiet dread. Vegeta was unpredictable, even after all the years of knowing him.

"Keep your shirt on, Jaco!" the woman's voice yelled back, the pitch grating unpleasantly on Raditz's ears.

"Vegeta?" Nappa queried, staring at the prince. "What are you doing?"

Much to the surprise of the both of them (and the horror of Raditz) Vegeta was tromping up over the hill of his own volition to investigate, staring straight ahead with a steely gaze. "W-wait, Vegeta!" Raditz called, sprinting up after him. "We're not supposed to talk to Patrollers!"

"Who said I wanted to talk?" he replied with a snotty tone, lip curling up in disdain at such a ridiculous proposition.

 _God_ , why did he have to be so difficult to read? Raditz silently hissed in frustration at not being in control of the situation or knowing what would happen next.

As Nappa lumbered up after them with heavy steps, they found over the hill two figures bent over the annoying extra goon on the mission that stupidly underestimated the capabilities of the natives. None of them recognized the smaller purple alien, but the woman…

"What the hell is she doing?" Raditz couldn't help saying, blinking at the officer tugging at something and pulling it away with an almost imperceptible speed.

"Eugh, gross," they heard her comment, fishing a severed ear out of the scouter she had scavenged from the dead body and casually tossing it away. That was...such a callous display—it wasn't the looting corpses part necessarily, it was the choice of what was taken and the fact that a _Patroller_ was doing it. They were supposed to be peacekeepers and righteous bringers of justice, weren't they?

_Then again, that insane woman's heart is probably blacker than—_

"Okay, you satisfied your tech lust, now let's _go_ ," the smaller alien demanded, putting his hands on his hips and tapping his foot impatiently at her.

None of the Saiyans knew _how_ it was possible, but they hadn't been detected by the Patrollers yet, apparently they were that absorbed in their standoff against…each other. The spiteful way the woman glared at the small alien and said, "Are you ordering me around, Jaco?" sent a shiver up Raditz's spine. He knew that tone. He knew it meant she was going to get violent. While he was happy it wasn't _him_ this time, he wasn't sure if he could take another display of ruthlessness from that woman. Raditz helplessly looked between Vegeta and Nappa to see what they thought. Nappa was grinning broadly as if he was watching one of his precious shows. Vegeta's expression was unreadable, a practiced mask of indifference as he observed and waited for what would happen next.

With a calculated menacing slowness that screamed the woman was _quite_ familiar with practicing intimidation (even for someone with a negligible power level and a small frame) she hooked the scouter to her belt and stepped towards her companion. "I asked you a question, Jaco," she said, eyes narrowing, turning icy.

The small male—Jaco, apparently—audibly gulped and backed away from the woman.

"Ohhhh, she sounds mad," Nappa commented, sounding like it was the best thing happening that day.

Him speaking broke the spell of the two Patrollers not realizing they were there, both immediately turned in their direction; the woman with a look of disgust, Jaco with a look of horror.

"Eh! H—hello!" he stammered, holding up his arms in surrender. The female Patroller simply rolled her eyes and turned on her heel to walk away as if they weren't even worth giving the time of day. Raditz noticed Vegeta's eyes remained on her as she left, Nappa huffed in disappointment. Not that he could blame the oldest Saiyan for being disappointed, necessarily, dealing with a sniveling groveler was always a drag.

Before any of them could awkwardly tell the small Patroller to just leave, or before they could walk away themselves, the woman turned back and darted forward to viciously knee her companion in the back of his head knocking him flat on the ground.

" _Holy shit_."

Nappa's declaration spoke what they were all thinking, even if Raditz was frozen in horror, even if Vegeta would say cursing was vulgar and below someone of his station.

She wasn't done, she pressed her foot heavily on the back of Jaco's head as he squirmed on the ground, probably begging her to have mercy. "You _nagged at me incessantly_ that it was time to _go_ , Jackass!" she snarled, reaching down and grabbing his wrists.

It looked for a moment as if she was going to help him up. That was not what the horrible woman was doing at all.

 _Oh **god**_ , Raditz cringed, automatically stepping back. She was _pulling_ the unfortunate thing's _arms_ while still pressing her foot down on his head. Even Vegeta looked stunned at the display while Nappa smiled.

"And now you're _wasting my time!_ "

"I'm s-s-sssssooorrrryyy…" Jaco whimpered, his arms stretching out in a manner that made it look like he didn't have bones, even though all three Saiyans could hear cracking.

How often would he have to be witness to this disturbing woman torturing weaker lifeforms? Was she even _real_ or some delusion collectively imagined up by all three of them after doing nothing but purging most of their lives?

"Sorry _what?_ "

A sickening _crack_ was heard.

"Sorry, _ma'am_!"

No, clearly, she was a demon from hell! The demoness released her victim's wrists and stormed away, telling him to hurry up and be there in five seconds or else she'd leave him stranded. A long and awkward silence stretched on as Jaco stood up and groaned, shifting himself back into place. That was…not how Galactic Patrollers were supposed to act, not that Raditz was in the habit of speaking to many. Nappa apparently approved, though, as he applauded the performance.

"Nice! You're hiring people with some fire in them, now!" he laughed, placing his hands on his hips.

" _Of course_ ," the thing said with a…smug tone? He was smug about this? That woman could have killed him! "Bulma's a recruit handpicked by _me_ , of course she's—"

"JACO!" The woman's voice thundered from the distance, sending the little Patroller skittering away fearfully.

"Okay, bye guys!" he called over his shoulder at them. "See you never!"

 _I only wish,_ Raditz thought, crossing his arms and tilting his head to the side as the ship flew off, unsure of what to make of the whole thing. _I still didn't get to ask her about Kakarot._

Then again, she didn't seem very interested in talking to them, what with the stunning apathy she showed about their presence. "Vegeta?" he tried to get his superior's attention, leaning over into his view, watching his expression cautiously. "That…that's her, right? The girl…"

"I know," Vegeta rumbled back, maintaining his air of indifference yet watching the direction the ship flew off in. "We've wasted enough time here, let's go."

So Nappa was telling the truth, he _did_ remember, and he had every intention of doing _something_ to enact retribution.

"Right…okay." Raditz wasn't certain if he should be more concerned about his chances of talking to the hellborn officer or Vegeta killing her before he got the chance. He would have considered the dilemma further until a conversation coming from the scouters caught his attention.

Oh, it was the Patrollers. Of course, since they took a scouter from someone who had been working with them, the link persisted and now the Saiyans could overhear what they were discussing.

_"So, wait, Kadab specifically **told** you not to seek out a scouter…and you did."_

_"Hey,"_ the shameless woman said, probably smiling as she did. _"Kadab said not to confront anyone **living** about a scouter, she didn't say anything about some dead chump ending up under my feet!"_

_"But like. You did the exact opposite of what he told you to do."_

_"Don't be such a baby, it's not like **I** killed the guy."_

_"I'm kinda thinking you **would** , though?"_

A weird sound startled Raditz out of listening. He knew Nappa was chuckling good naturedly at what they were hearing, of course, but the noise he had _heard_ was Vegeta laughing as well.

 _He's…I think Vegeta has lost his mind finding out the girl is still alive_ , he thought with a significant amount of concern.

It was a strange day. Very strange indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that that's out of the way, what's Bulma going to do with her new toy? Has anybody told her literally anybody else with a scouter can hear her over it?
> 
> No, no they have not. 
> 
> Once again, if you wanted to see notes and doodles I have wrt this thing, my writing tumblr is https://missportugal96.tumblr.com/ !


	10. Dread Emperor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma is too curious for her own good, Tyber's life continues to be suffering, Vegeta disapproves of how Nappa talks about him to other people, Tahaya's friend works for Frieza??

The return to HQ after failing to find "their man" but salvaging a scouter like Bulma always wanted wasn't met with fanfare or even a disappointed "oh you didn't find him" flat note. Instead it was a confused mess of Kadab flying up to Bulma and giving her an earful about _taking dangerous risks_ while Jaco held up his hands in surrender and said _he_ was looking for "their man"— _she_ was the one tripping over corpses and looting. Mosto, looking out of place as large green men tended to (even among other aliens) just watched the activity in the lab from his inexplicable (but entirely usual) mid-air perching. Wherever he and Tyber had gone, the Namekian was now alone and seemed thoroughly confused at what situation had stormed into the space he was spending his leisure time in.

Bulma only sighed and began to take apart the scouter at her workbench; it was an amazingly complex yet compact device, finally having her hands on one and being able to map it out to her heart's content couldn't be dampened even by Kadab _continuing_ to scold her. Whoever made the scouter was a real genius, Bulma had to admit, even if _her_ clever mind was already coming up with ways to improve upon the design and function.

"You will have to ask _Frieza_ before doing any further modifications," Kadab finally said, voice somewhat hoarse from the consistent volume they had kept up while yelling at her.

Their emphasis on _Frieza_ hinted that they were trying to discourage Bulma by invoking his name and all the fear associated with him. Bulma only replied with the casual air of reading the weather report, "Okay. Then I'll go talk to Frieza."

They took it better than she expected, Kadab threw up their tiny clawed hands in frustration, a string of curses in some extinct alien language spewing from their mouth as they stormed out of the lab. Bulma felt a little bad, but mostly felt relief that she was left to work in peace, only Mosto was there in the lab now and he would gladly leave her to her thoughts (even if there was also a chance of him reading them).

 _You know, Bulma,_ her common sense (which sounded strangely like Launch in both her forms) whispered at her as she worked. _You were wondering where the other Saiyan ended up, and there he was. **Staring right at you.** _

_I know that_ , her intellectual side argued primly. _But getting the scouter and finishing the mission was more important than small talk._

"The other boy" as she had been calling him had finally made an appearance, just as she suspected might eventually happen with the long-haired Saiyan becoming more and more recognizable in her memories. Bulma honestly didn't know what to make of encountering him again as an adult, he didn't _look_ the same—the _boy_ was awkward, almost cute in how awkward he was. The _man_ was a stone gargoyle with hair like he stuck his finger in an electric socket, showing no emotion on his face whatsoever except "if I had pyrokinesis I would be using it _right now_."

He undoubtedly wasn't a fan of "hey it's been twelve years, how have you been since I scared you off my planet?" small talk.

"I'm sorry," Mosto's voice came into her thoughts gently, tone uncharacteristically subdued. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't think they would recognize you."

Bulma, concentrated on the scouter and vague thoughts as she was, lifted her goggles to stare at him in confusion. "Who?" she asked before remembering that upon their first meeting, Mosto had accessed _all_ her memories and was fully aware of her childhood rivals. "Oh. The Saiyans."

Mosto nodded with a dismal frown at her realization, then after a moment of the two staring at each other in uncomfortable silence a hesitant smile appeared on his face. "The 'hairy' one is Raditz, the other…" He paused, tilting his head to one side. "Tell me, why are you mad at Prince Vegeta for 'growing up hot'?" The question sounded innocent enough, but the knowing smirk showed the true cheekiness that Bulma had come to expect from him.

"Oh my gosh!" Bulma cried, a scorching blush washing over her face as many, many thoughts crowded around in response to the quip. So many thoughts, in fact, it even created a crease of worry between the Namekian's brow as if they were pressing down on him just as much as they were onto their origin. _I didn't think he was **hot** , just not that bad looking! Only a little! And-and-and—what does that even matter, anyway, I'm **taller** than him now, that's so unappealing!_

"Does .5 inches really matter that much, Bulma?"

"Get out of my head!" she snapped instead of acknowledging the very inconsequential .5 inch difference. "You wouldn't get it, anyway! You're a—well, you're a Namekian!"

Mosto frowned, clearly perplexed at the abrupt swing her mood and thoughts were taking as they spoke. "I suppose not, no," he admitted. "But yes, among other things and for all of how little it matters anymore, Vegeta _does_ happen to be the last living member of the Saiyan royal family."

 _A prince, huh._ When Bulma was younger and grew past her shoot laser guns at everything stage (simultaneously growing into her shoot lead bullets at everything stage), she became fond of reading romantic fairy tales. From there, she began to dream about the idea of a dashing prince and how lovely life would be if one would come into her life and rescue her from the dreariness of boredom, insincerities, and disappointments. Just a couple of years ago that was to be her wish: a perfect lover just for her, a real prince.

It was sadly amusing how things changed as she got older, it was a stupid thought—a prince. Princes weren't heroes, wonderful, or dashing just on virtue of being born into royalty, they were political figureheads. In the case of _that_ one he was a flustered little boy frightened away by her simply refusing to back down ( _guess that should have been a warning sign for my relation to men_ ). The memory was cute in a helpless kitten way but not her idea of princely, what the little boy grew up into was _also_ not ideal as far as princes went. He cut a proud, dark figure standing with his subjects on either side of him, clearly the most powerful and important despite being the smallest. Oh, so much power, Bulma felt the enormous battle ki pressing down as she stood there with Jaco, trying to remain outwardly composed despite the distress at how _strong_ the Saiyan was. He either didn't know how to conceal his ki or didn't bother to, with the reliance on scouters to detect power levels however it was likely the former.

Whatever the fact was, the other undeniable fact was that even if Bulma hadn't been hiding her own ki Vegeta would still dwarf her strength. She was an insignificant speck of dust in comparison, and the way he stared at her showed that he _knew_ it regardless. She was already used to the apparent Saiyan habit of staring a long time without saying anything from Tyber. Her teacher couldn't help looking sharp and frightening with the characteristic angular black eyes, it was just the way he looked. Vegeta was different from Tyber by a vast gulf, where Tyber was simply guarded and not prone towards talking, Vegeta's cruel-looking eyes watched and judged everything around him with _intent_. The most frightening aspect was Bulma could detect intelligence there, the man was a natural strategist and probably turned over several scenarios in his mind while quietly observing. The _worst_ part was how even with him openly watching her the whole time, his expression betrayed nothing about what he was thinking; he managed to look aggravatingly indifferent (almost prompting Bulma to ask, "what do _you_ want, jerk?") the entire time. Yet there was…something. Something else in his expression that she just couldn't read. Bulma had no idea what to make of it, it wasn't as though it was a gaze that _liked_ what it saw (nobody fell in love at first sight outside of fairy tales, though she sincerely doubted Vegeta was capable of love anyway). It was cold, dark, yet heated with a predatory slant—it said that he knew who she was, remembered what she did, and there _would_ be payback.

 _But I didn't even shoot **him** , _she thought sourly. Bulma would have continued with theorizing about why exactly he wanted retribution (whether for the sake of his comrade or just pride) until she realized something was nagging at her about "him."

_Him._

_"No matter how much I train her, I just can't prepare her for **him**."_

Mosto, who had been waiting with his usual patience while she mulled over everything, nodded. "Yes," he answered her thoughts. "Him."

Tyber was…concerned about Bulma facing off against the prince? But why? How would he have known? She searched Mosto's expression for an answer but found nothing but grim silence. "Did…did something happen to Tyber while I was gone?" she hesitantly asked, already fearing the answer.

"He couldn't tell you."

A chill ran through Bulma as she realized with horror that they had _met_. Her teacher had encountered that awful Saiyan, and—"What did he _do_?!" she growled, fingers tightening against her palms. "Did he hurt Tyber? Did he threaten him?!"

The Namekian nodded again, a rare helpless expression entering his eyes as Bulma felt her rage ignite at the audacity of **_him_**. "He didn't tell me what was said, exactly—"

"That doesn't matter!" Bulma shrieked, slamming her palms on her workbench (a slight dent appearing thereafter). "He has no right! None!" She tightened her fingers against her palms again, now feeling her nails pressing into the skin with—to her faint surprise—not as much pain as there would have been before. "I…I—!"

 _What am I going to do?_ There was nothing in her mind except _MAKE THE MONKEY BASTARD PAY_ , not exactly rational planning. Theoretically she _could_ inform Frieza that one of his men had acted inappropriately towards a fellow Patroller, but—

"Telling Frieza would only hurt Tyber," Mosto finished the thought for her.

"…Yeah."

She had no doubts Frieza would try to insist that Saiyans were _his_ alone and do something underhanded to try to get Tyber over to his side or…harm him. _And he might hurt Vegeta, too,_ a thought that didn't sound like her intellectual or emotional side piped up. _What? Who the hell cares about him?_ Bulma wrinkled her nose and decided it must have been because she wanted to deal with the nuisance _herself_. It was her childhood scuffle to deal with, only _she_ would have the satisfaction of making Vegeta pay for the crime of being _him_. Mosto averted his eyes as she justified that yes, it was because she wanted to _make him pay_ herself. _But not kill him,_ her emotional side added, even though the universe would be much better off with one less murderer in it. Bulma still couldn't envision herself intentionally going out to kill someone; it would be in the heat of battle, self-defense, defense of another, only that.

Besides, what good was it killing someone when causing them pain lasted longer?

Perhaps that wasn't the point, but it made Bulma feel better to think it.

 _And he's anticipating it, too, isn't he?_ _Saiyans are damn scrappy, they put up a fight and keep coming back for more._ Much to the visible alarm of her friend, a wicked smirk curved over Bulma's lips as she thought of what the unknown had in store. _Game on, you depraved bastard, I won't lose._

"Bulma. Be careful," Mosto warned. "He's not like the rest, Vegeta is _very_ intelligent."

"You think I couldn't guess that myself?" she snapped back with a haughty toss of her hair. "He might be marginally smarter than a single-celled organism, but _I'm_ a genius!"

"I know," he replied with a tone of exhausted acceptance. "I know you are…and you know of course I think you're more than capable of outdoing someone like that. But even so, you must remember, he was raised living and breathing senseless violence. There are no limiters on him, there never will be."

He was telling her without being blunt that there was no guarantee Vegeta wouldn't lose his temper and end the game with her brutal slaughter. Unfortunately for Mosto, all the caution did was widen Bulma's smirk until it stretched into a _glowing_ grin at the excitement. A deadly, unpredictable opponent with a grudge and above-average intellect sounded like a lot of fun. He didn't comment on her self-destructive idea of _excitement_ before he left the lab, but he did remind Bulma again to be careful with a gentle tousle of her hair.

Left alone with her thoughts, she considered what to do after successfully taking apart the scouter and creating a blueprint; Kadab was correct that before she could do any modifications, Bulma would need permission from Frieza. Her scouter project had a forced pause for the moment.

She considered then calling home to check on everyone. Despite giving him a black eye, Yamcha was a remarkably good sport about their disastrous attempt at a mature mutual parting. If they could remain friends, it was fine—"And you _do_ have friends, Bulma," he reminded her with a puzzling insistent press of his hands to her shoulders. "We're your friends and we _care_ , okay?" His eyes sparkled with determined genuineness that Bulma just didn't know how to respond to. Did the vague hints she dropped about her feelings of loneliness shake him so acutely?

It was kind of him to be concerned, but Bulma found it overall unnecessary Nonetheless, before she left Bulma made two requests of her friend: teach her how to use the Kamehameha and keep an eye on Launch.

"Why's that?" Yamcha had asked, tilting his head curiously. "Is she okay?"

"I think…she's really struggling against accepting her wild side as part of her," Bulma replied, chewing on her lip. The truth was how ardently Launch seemed to be fighting it disturbed her greatly, almost to the point that she wanted to stay a little longer on Earth to help work things out.

"That makes sense, though, doesn't it?" he said with an unexpected amount of understanding. "Lots of people want to ignore their flaws and pretend they're not there."

"I wouldn't know, I haven't got any," she responded with an impish grin prompting Yamcha to laugh and shove her playfully.

"Oh, _of course_ , how could I forget?"

Bulma smiled softly at the memory of her last few vacation days on Earth, the blissful carefree times with her friends and family. Then she remembered the secrets she was keeping from them about the dark and dangerous aliens whose crosshairs she skipped into. It would be too tempting to spill about the new element of danger if she were to call home.

However, her mother might have misinterpreted the Saiyans as suitors, though it was a ghastly idea. "Yeah right," Bulma muttered, recalling how Tahaya teased her. _That's beyond "bad boy" and into "nightmare man."_ Or suicidal, as Tahaya put it. Still, Bulma reminded herself, not all Saiyans were like them, there was always Goku—

_Wait._

Bulma straightened up from her workbench, snatching her communicator with eager hands, and dialing up the one person who would have the answers she desired right then.

"This is Tyber," the gruff voice of her teacher greeted. Gruff, neutral, _tired_ though he would never admit he was tired.

"Tyber," Bulma began in her detached professional tone, thankful he couldn't see her face and the sly excitement written all over it. "I want you to show me the database on Saiyans."

There was a long pause, a faint breath that might have held a shiver. "Are you not capable of accessing it yourself?" he replied with a cautious, doubtful edge to his words.

"You know what I'm looking for." Bulma went in for the kill, realizing how awful it was to corner Tyber in that manner but at the same time _needing_ to have the answers, "I need you to show me, Sensei."

"Bulma…"

He sounded so lost.

"Tyber. I know you're scared, but don't be, I promise I won't let them get anywhere near you or your family," she vowed. "I won't let them hurt you." She would fight Vegeta barehanded before she allowed him to have his evil, destructive ways.

The Saiyan, a proud alien warrior, laughed then. It was a bizarre, weak, high-pitched noise that sounded nothing like his usual timbre at all. "You're telling _me_ not to be scared," he groaned. " _You_ should be scared, Bulma. You should be _terrified_."

"But I'm not," Bulma retorted.

" _That_ scares the fuck out of me."

"Hey…watch your language," she tenderly scolded with a smile, prompting another weary laugh from Tyber. He relented and told her he would be at the data terminal in a couple of minutes, leaving Bulma with a flustered mix of determination to keep her promise and excitement at finding answers at last.  She would kill two birds with one stone: get more information on the Saiyans and find out who Goku was before he landed on Earth. Tyber was right, Bulma _was_ able to access the database of Saiyans by herself and having names to put to the faces was helpful enough—still, only he had the true context behind the information.

"Raditz," she pronounced the name carefully to the data terminal. The file came up immediately, a hard-eyed Saiyan with long hair and a long profile of data that didn't mean much to her. Her eyes ticked over the information carefully, trying to see if something stuck out to her.

_Family: Bardock (father; deceased), Gine (mother; deceased), Kakarot (brother; unknown)_

Bulma felt Tyber's ki before she heard him come up behind her, it took a moment for him to say anything as he noticed what she was looking at. "Monitor 2, Vegeta," he commanded in a dull tone to the terminal. Two links flashed up: _King Vegeta (deceased), Prince Vegeta (active)._ "Prince Vegeta," Tyber clarified, the shadow of a flinch passing over his face when the file of the young prince opened.

"Geez, self-absorbed much?" Bulma huffed, trying to distract Tyber from the stony looks of the two pictures. "Their whole planet and their family members named after them? What would they do if they had a second kid, name him Vegeta 2.0? What if it was a girl—"

"His name was Tarble," Tyber interrupted her pitiful attempts at joking around, still staring directly into the eyes of Vegeta's ID picture. "The prince's younger brother, I mean."

Bulma raised her eyebrows, leaning over to examine the second monitor. Sure enough, underneath the "family" category Vegeta _did_ have a brother listed as deceased. "That's interesting, they both had brothers."

 _Had_ felt odd to say, so casually talking about these two men losing their whole families in the destruction of their home. _Frieza did it, he must have_ , the usual suspicious thoughts rang as she turned to Tyber. She hoped she wasn't looking sympathetic towards them at that moment, Bulma knew for a fact that Tyber expressed total indifference to the loss of his planet and—

"Prince Tarble was culled for weakness," he said with an uncharacteristic amount of coldness to his voice when discussing someone being _slaughtered_. "Several years ago."

Bulma shivered, gawking at Tyber in surprise for his cruel words, eyes flicking to Vegeta's equally cruel visage. _They just…they just killed his brother?_ How appalling, how much must have that hurt him…?

She noticed her teacher's eyes flick to her, apparently displeased with whatever her expression was as he snarled: " _Don't_ feel sorry for him." Tyber's lip curled, eyes glittering with hatred, mistrust, and…something, something faint as he regarded the two pictures. "Either of them. Bonds, family, friends, all of that is meaningless to them, they don't know the meaning of caring about someone other than themselves."

Bulma understood then what the faintness was, though Tyber tried to hide it beneath his hatred and fear he couldn't help but feel pity towards the last remnants of his people himself. Stressing that they didn't _understand_ what it meant to care for someone besides themselves was as much of an argument against him feeling sympathy as her.

Saiyans were most likely never given the luxury of true compassion, pity, or sympathy. Tyber still kept many things to himself, but the impression Bulma had was that his grasp on emotions (from himself or others) was tenuous for aliens yet exceedingly _abnormal_ for Saiyans. She imagined showing empathy to Saiyans like the ones Frieza had would incite anger, defensiveness, suspicion about the motivation behind it. After all, genuine showing of emotion was showing weakness. What fool would do that?

 _You would_ , she reminded herself with an internal wry laugh. _But my emotions **aren't** a weakness._ She had the luxury as well of being able to _keep_ her bonds safely, nobody would actively try to take them away from her. Perhaps it wasn't that bonds were _meaningless_ to the Saiyans so much as they were always taken away before they could properly appreciate them. She leaned against the terminal's keyboard and stared thoughtfully at the three Saiyans in front of her, two pictured, one living and breathing despite how hard it was.

The Saiyans had nothing and no one, bred and groomed to slaughter, discouraged from _feeling_ anything but hatred. It was as if the aim was to completely crush their hearts and rot their souls until they believed _nothing_ about them was worth a damn but ability to kill. Tyber told her not to feel sorry for them; like the rebellious Bulma tended to, she ignored the command and felt that way regardless. Yet there was something else in her heart, a strange sense of understanding. She wouldn't show it, or express it, that wasn't the aim of her bringing Tyber to look at ghosts of the past with her.

"Bulma." Tyber evidently agreed with the sentiment as he turned to her, eyebrows pinched, mouth twisted into a deep scowl. "Tell me, what's going on? Please. How—how do they know you?"

She turned a sorrowful gaze to him and sighed, "I'm sorry, Tyber. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but…you can't tell anyone about this." Though his eyes widened in alarm, she pressed on: "The King, our comrades, nobody else knows. Only Mosto does. Promise me you won't tell."

"You don't have to make me promise that," Tyber answered, raising up his hand to his chest for a moment as if he was going to make some motion of emphasis. Instead he placed it on her shoulder with a regretful frown. "Please trust me, Bulma."

"I do!" she insisted, hand flying up to grasp his. "I do trust you." It surprised herself to realize that Bulma _did_ genuinely trust Tyber and her words weren't empty platitudes, but that was why he was her friend in the first place wasn't it? It was why she wanted to protect him, keep his family out of the line of fire, make it so he wouldn't suffer so much from his clear as day anxiety issues. "ID version, age 739," Bulma commanded the terminal, loosening her hold on Tyber and staring at the screen.

A sequence of pictures that would have looked humorously like time being reversed on the two Saiyans if the Patrollers weren't regarding it with such grim expressions followed. There they were, the two boys Bulma met as a child. She reached out, fingers ghosting gently over the picture of Raditz first. He was smiling, apparently in the past he was more of a cheerful type. Her fingers then trailed to Vegeta, who still looked stern as he was currently, but as a child it appeared more cutely petulant. "I was five," Bulma finally began, trying to keep her breathing level as she recounted the past. "After Jaco left, I witnessed a pod landing. Two boys came out of it."

Tyber's eyes widened, black irises quavering as they flicked between her and the pictures. Disbelief, fear…she recognized those emotions, yet he kept silent and waited patiently for her to continue the story.

And she did, Bulma puffed herself up with pride as she went on, "I told them to leave or else I'd shoot them. I had always experimented with weapons, the gun I made was for any aliens that would dare try to attack Earth."

"I know," Tyber interjected, voice showing no hint of being impressed or interested. "I still don't know what possessed you to think there was a risk of _that_."

Bulma snorted, turning a glare to her teacher. " _First of all_ , I have access to the files now, I _know_ that there have been attacks on Earth by aliens—no thanks to the GP, I might add!"

At best they didn't realize it was even happening, at worst they ignored it until the last second and did cleanup. Tyber looked away from her and mumbled something guiltily about it happening before he joined the Patrol. It wasn't as though she had told him such a thing to hold him accountable—or maybe she did, Bulma wasn't entirely sure, either way it didn't do well to foster trust in the organization. She sighed, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder comfortingly. "Come on, besides that, my sister is a total sci-fi nut, I've been told those stories since I was old enough to understand words." She grinned, lightly shaking him, "Aliens _always_ try to invade Earth in those stories."

"The people of your planet sound wholly self-absorbed," he grunted, pushing away her hand as if to remind her—yes—Tyber _was_ weird about people touching him.

"Either way, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that two boys with tails that dropped from the sky were aliens," Bulma forged on, crossing her arms with typical stubbornness. "They were looking for someone, that was what Raditz said." She touched a finger to the text, _Kakarot_ became highlighted. "If you say Vegeta's brother is dead, and Raditz's brother is MIA…" Bulma broke off, shaking her head and reaching into her pocket to take out her communicator and switch it to viewing mode. "Tell me," she began, showing Tyber a picture of herself, Krillin, and Goku at the last tournament. "Does he look familiar…?"

They all looked so young and carefree then, before Bulma remembered the alien proposition, before the knowledge that _Goku_ originated from outer space was learned. Tyber took the communicator from her, hands shaking, eyes wide as he stared at Goku in a peculiar mix between dismay and awe. She could even see Goku's cheerful, innocently beaming face reflected in his rapidly dilating pupils as he whispered, "Kakarot…" He took a deep, shuddering breath, ran his free hand through his hair and slowly swiped it across his face. "I can't believe this," he continued in that harsh whisper. "He…he looks like a child."

Bulma raised an eyebrow at him in confusion—what did he mean "looks like a child"? Of course Goku looked like a child, he _was_ a child. Then again, she was beginning to get the hint that Tyber might have had a very specific category for what a _child_ was, and his dislike of other Saiyans automatically edged them out of _that_ title. She would have argued in defense of her friend if not for catching a gasp that sounded like _"just like then."_ Bulma's eyebrows shot up, a jolt of shock spiking through her as she snatched the communicator back from him. "What do you mean!?" she demanded. "You knew Goku before? Tell me!"

He stared at her helplessly, seeming to forget the other topic of her _first_ encounter with Saiyans as he looked all around the room with an uneasy tremble. "Back…back then…when Kakarot landed, Jaco was supposed to intercept his pod, you know that." Not giving Bulma time to reply, he went on: "Jaco missed the landing and wrote it off as the pod not showing up. I didn't believe it. I pored over that report day and night trying to figure out _what_ bothered me about it, though I was also studying for entrance exams in the Patrol—that's how you usually get in if you don't have a recommendation like you had from a senior officer."

"Uh-huh…" For a moment she tried to imagine Tyber relentlessly hitting the books in a way that didn't involve physically hitting them.

"When I was officially sanctioned as an officer and had the freedom to move about, I decided I would investigate myself." He turned away and pressed a rapid sequence of keys she could barely perceive, pulling up a hidden file. "First, I found Kakarot's pod and played back the recording. Usually in the pods of infant conquerors they leave messages reminding them who they are and what they're meant to be doing." He frowned deeply, a dark shadow seeming to pass over him as he held his hand over the keys, seeming to be debating with himself whether to hit play or not.

He did. Bulma heard the voice of a woman talking to "Kakarot" telling him that his father had a bad feeling about an order Frieza sent out and they needed to send him away for a little bit.

 _"If Bardock's wrong, we'll come get you as soon as we can!"_ the woman's voice earnestly insisted, all energy and tender affection.

The deep, calm voice of a man came after, _"Remember you mustn't look up at the moon for too long."_

Bulma felt a wave of cold wash over while a telltale heat burned behind her eyes. She knew, in fact, she was listening to the voices of Goku's parents, people she had assumed before would be heartless and indifferent to their son. But here…here, they were sending him away for his _safety_. They were promising they would pick him up as if they were dropping him off at school. They were reminding him to not look up at the moon ( _he wouldn't destroy anything then_ ) with the same tone of not forgetting his lunch.

 _"I'll tell Raditz about this too,"_ the woman assured. She sounded so kind and loving, the timbre of her voice brought that heat into a pooling of tears as Bulma knew would happen.

 _"You have to stay alive,"_ said the man, a prayer for their son's safety. Bulma's vision began to wobble.

_"Take care…"_

The message ended there, hot streaks of tears slipped down Bulma's face as Tyber looked over at her with a troubled expression. Whether it was at her crying or the contents of the recording and how long he had kept it a secret, she wasn't certain. She found she didn't care what it was, Bulma just wanted to find Goku right away and hug the little bumpkin. _You had people that love you, Goku. And you **have** people that love you_ , she wanted to whisper to him as she ran her fingers through his unruly hair.

 _"Well gee, Bulma, I know that. Why are you acting so weird?"_ she imagined he would reply back with that innocent curiosity of his. She laughed, though it sounded more like a croak and a sob then and put her face in her hands.

"God…god…" Bulma shivered, shoulders tensing, tears never stopping their flow. "I asked Goku when I first met him where his parents were…he said he didn't know, it had always been just him and his grandpa. I thought…I thought they _abandoned_ him."

But now she knew, it was a restless feeling Goku's father had—possibly about the destruction of the planet—that sent that little Saiyan boy away. A shuddering gasp came as she tried to breathe and stop sobbing, she became aware then that Tyber had pulled her into an embrace to let her cry against him. He shushed her, gently petting her hair the way a parent would calm their hysterical child. "When I sought out Kakarot—" 

" _Goku_ ," Bulma sniffed, not wanting to accept that Goku had a name before. That he  _has_ a brother. That she shot his brother in the face years before she did the same to him.

"…Goku, then. The message…surprised me, to say the least." His voice became faint as he spoke, as if he still couldn't believe that he had stumbled upon Saiyan parents that genuinely loved their child, even if they were now just a recording. "By that time, he…had been found by an old man." 

"His grandpa Gohan." 

"If that's his name, yes."

Tyber sounded uncomfortable as he spoke, leading Bulma to pull away and glare at him suspiciously. "What were you going to do when you found Goku? …Were you going to kill him!?"

"No!" he snapped defensively, shoulders bunching up around his ears in outrage. "I was—I don't know what I was going to do! But when I saw him with that man—" He trailed off, voice becoming quiet. "I thought…I couldn't possibly take that child away from him. And Ka—Goku looked so much like a child, he was…happy."

She understood then why Tyber specifically referred to Goku as a child in a surprised manner. To him, children were wholly innocent and required protecting and nurturing. Saiyan children, bred for combat and killing, weren't innocent in his mind. "Goku's a good kid," she said fondly, smiling to herself as if it was a secret how much her friend meant to her. "He was all alone in the mountains when I found him, and…you know what? I was alone, too. He was one of the first real friends I ever had."

He chuckled, turning back to the screen, swiping at his eyes for some reason. "One of your first real friends, a Saiyan." Tyber was silent for a long moment, then frowned deeply. "Raditz and Vegeta were looking for _Kakarot_. You said you were five when you met them?" He looked down at her with a significant measure of worry. "What…what did you end up doing at the end of your encounter?"

"I shot Raditz," Bulma declared with a casual shrug. "Vegeta ran away after seeing I meant business."

Now _that_ was an expression Tyber had never shown her before: an actual jaw-drop of total shock.

"What?" Bulma grumbled, feeling defensive at the disbelieving way he was gaping at her. "I had a gun, of course I was going to use it."

He didn't answer again for a long moment until eventually stammering: "You…you _defeated_ them."

"Huh? I defeated Raditz, I guess, Vegeta ran."

"Saiyans do not _run_ , they fight no matter how hopeless it seems. _Running_ is _giving up_ , giving up is _humiliating defeat_."

Not that Bulma had any reason to doubt him, but the passionate way Tyber _insisted_ how a Saiyan viewed defeat brought her to a pause. She glanced at the picture of Vegeta as a child again, eyes moving back to the adult version. "Wow, no wonder he was giving me that look the whole time on my last mission."

Mostly she was surprised he remembered and held onto it for over a decade, she would have thought that pettiness would be exclusive to her.

"You _saw_ him recently?!" That weird high-pitched tone had come back into Tyber's voice as he straightened up and shook at the blandly-spoken revelation.

Bulma, only vaguely noticing that his hair had started to stand up in a similar way, continued to mumble to herself: "—But come on, does it really count? He was like seven or something…"

" _BULMA."_

"What?!"

"He's going to kill you!"

She scoffed, laughing as though Tyber had said something benign like that the Saiyan prince had a schoolboy crush on her. "No, he's not, Prince Vertically Challenged isn't going to end the game that soon." Bulma figured that the understanding of his motivation and the risk would soothe Tyber's concerns.

It did not. He screamed even louder: " _GAME._ BULMA BRIEFS!"

"I can handle it, Tyber!" Bulma yelled back defensively. She could! He didn't need to worry or involve himself at all. "Just stay out of it, okay? I don't want you to get hurt!"

"Have you lost your goddamned mind?!"

"My mind is right where it belongs—"

Tyber pushed aside any insistence that she knew what she was doing, beginning to pace back and forth in the room as he ran his hands through his hair. "—And is what Jaco said true? You salvaged a scouter?" he stammered, looking as though he really wanted Bulma to say no.

Unfortunately, not for the first or last time, Bulma would disappoint her teacher. She simply shrugged and said, "Yeah, but I can't do anything with that until I talk to Frieza."

" _BULMA._ "

"I can handle it!" She huffed, crossing her arms. "You don't think I can do it?"

He looked at her with a mix of rage and helplessness, hands shaking, hair still bristling as if electricity was running through him. "Bulma," Tyber said in a quieter voice. "You're more than capable of handling…things. But…Frieza, _and_ these Saiyans?"

"By the way—" Bulma pointed out the third monitor, left blank. "Who's the big bald guy with them?"

Taken aback by her changing the subject so suddenly, but not being able to resist the impulse to answer a direct question, he muttered: "Monitor three, Nappa."

Just like she suspected, the profile of the bald Saiyan showed that he was much older than the other two. In that case she figured he must have been the closest thing they had to an adult figure throughout their lives. _I wonder how Saiyans raise their kids if they're forced to?_ "He seems friendly."

"He's not," Tyber insisted. "None of them are. They're monsters, and you shouldn't go anywhere near them."

"I can handle it," Bulma repeated as Tyber's communicator started to beep. "You can go take that call if you need to, I've gotta talk to the King about meeting with Frieza."

He sighed, taking out the communicator and turning away to answer it. After presumably hearing who was on the other side, Tyber turned back to Bulma with a severe stare and a final warning to _be careful_ before he left the room to continue the conversation in private.

 _It'll be fine,_ she thought, shutting down the data terminal and watching the images of the three Saiyans fade into black. _I can do this, it will just be a simple talk with Frieza about modifying the scouter and making my own, worst he can do is say no._

Nobody ever killed anybody over being asked a simple question, after all.

At least Bulma thought so.

 _Never mind_. She couldn't waste time any longer, she needed to talk to the King right away, not think about _Frieza_ or her best friend's murderous brother  _or_ a royal pain in the ass grudge-holder.

 

* * *

"Hey, pal, when do you get off from work?"

 _Pal._ Vegeta felt himself grinding his teeth as he heard Nappa use an informal addressing while speaking into his scouter. It didn't take a detective to guess whom the bald idiot was talking to, he had casually called the coward _pal_ the first time they met. He reminded himself that he didn't care what Nappa did in his off-duty times as long as the buffoon was capable of fighting. He could go off and drink with a cowardly traitor all he wanted.

Vegeta didn't care.

He really didn't.

That was exactly why he spent the rest of the day pummeling Raditz in the training room before retiring to his quarters. He wasn't annoyed that Nappa felt free to do whatever, with whomever he wanted, while Vegeta and Raditz practiced restraint. He also wasn't annoyed that he hadn't heard anything from the scouter the woman took since that initial meeting except static.

He _definitely_ wasn't annoyed that he could hear Nappa talking to the coward—Tyber, he recalled, not that his cursed name _mattered_ —as if they were friends over loud music.

"I don't see why you're listening in on that," Raditz had commented before they parted ways. "I just turned Nappa's channel off, the music's too loud."

"I don't see who gave you permission to question me," Vegeta grunted back, stalking off to his room while denying that Raditz had a good point. He only regretted that one couldn't properly _slam_ doors that slid open and tossed his scouter aside for the moment. They weren't talking about anything interesting, Nappa was asking Tyber overly personal questions—dull things about being raised by people of Hera. It mystified Vegeta as to why he was still listening, it couldn't have purely been out of spite, could it?

No, he acknowledged after a moment's pause, it mildly interested him that the older Saiyans _might_ go on the topic of the woman. The coward claimed to be her teacher, after all, he must have had some thoughts, especially with the knowledge that Vegeta had every intention of confronting her. He smirked at the memory of the coward pathetically begging for her safety—oh, sentimental ones were just too easy to frighten. And what did he hope to accomplish by continuing to associate with Nappa? Ply him with drinks, play at being his friend, try to bargain with him for the woman's safety? As if _Nappa_ had any chance of dissuading Vegeta from pursuing his target, the idiot knew better. He laid back against his bed, idly reaching up to the scouter to turn it off deciding that the old drunkards had gone on for too long about pointless nonsense.

It was Nappa's voice that brought him to a pause: "You said you train the feisty one? How long have you been doing that?"

His hand froze, fingertips lightly touching the side of his scouter. Yes, _the feisty one_ that was what Nappa called _her_ , his target, the childhood humiliation in his cosmic joke of a life returned in the form of a spitfire woman. (Raditz had started to insist that she must have been from Hell itself, Vegeta reminded him that they were all going to Hell regardless so what did it matter if she _was_.)

"Since last year," came the grumble of the coward, all suspicious tone and probably glaring.

"Last year? Hey, she's a natural!" Nappa said cheerfully, there was a thump like he patted the coward on the shoulder. "I thought she was gonna snap that little purple guy in half last time we saw her."

Vegeta snorted quietly, amused despite himself at the memory. He had been taken aback at how brutally she treated her own comrade at first, but that with the nonchalant way she spoke about death (and the other saying he suspected she _would_ kill) was surprisingly entertaining.

The coward scoffed, "Jaco makes you wanna snap his neck all the time. It's not unique to her." His voice went lower, strangely muddled by the rough and informal persona he was revealing: "She _is_ naturally violent, though. You should hear some of the shit she says to me during training."

Vegeta had to suppress another snort while Nappa clarified he meant with fighting. **_I_** _could have told anyone that,_ he thought snidely, vaguely aware that the way he was thinking implied that he knew more about Bulma than her own teacher. Still, Vegeta could sense it from her expression of contempt alone the last time they had met, she _wanted_ to look at him and make some threat, probably insult him as before, start a fight He found that _he_ wanted her to as well and was somewhat disappointed that she took her aggression out on the small alien. Then again, he could acknowledge that she was smart, and if the coward taught her _everything_ he knew then she could already sense Vegeta's battle strength and realize it would be futile.

 _She could have still tried_ , a small voice whispered with a sullen tone. _I want to see what she's hiding._

What power she was hiding, that is. Vegeta didn't know the full extent of Tyber's power since he kept himself remarkably restrained during their last meeting, any fool could determine that Bulma similarly hid her power.

He had been thinking of her by name since learning it quite often, come to think of it.

 _Never mind_. On a more practical standpoint, they _both_ realized that if either of them instigated a fight they would be in deep trouble with their masters, although Vegeta didn't know the Galaxy King ( _what kind of arrogant bastard declares himself king of a whole galaxy?_ ) and how angry he got. Frieza ( _the arrogant bastard that calls himself emperor of the **universe**_ ) he knew, he knew that whatever happened would result in a brutal beating. At least the one officer who _knew_ about Vegeta's intentions was a fellow Saiyan, and one that was easy to bend at that. Then again, all sentimental creatures folded easily, especially when their families were brought into the fray—not that Vegeta had an actual clue of where Tyber's family would be or what they looked like besides one of his half-breeds. He took the prince seriously regardless and that was all that mattered, the coward wouldn't tell _anybody_ else about his relationship with the woman.

 _Association. Not relationship._ Relationship sounded too personal.

He wondered how Bulma would have reacted to hearing about her teacher's betrayal, how quickly he crumbled and abandoned her to be left at the mercy of Vegeta. His malicious spirit tingled in satisfaction at the thought of how angry and hurt she would be; he had _threatened_ someone she "cared" for and at the same time revealed how meaningless _caring_ really was. Push someone hard enough and they will crack, that was the law of the merciless universe they all lived in. In her case, if he pushed hard enough it would rile her up and entertain him for a time.

Nappa spoke, mentioning _her_ again at last: "She got a scouter that last time, too. What's she been doing with it?"

"Taking it apart, mostly," Tyber muttered back.

That explained why Vegeta hadn't heard anything but static from then on, not that he really cared about _talking_ to her or hearing her voice and what she was up to.

"By herself?"

There Nappa went being easily impressed again. Vegeta rolled his eyes, big deal any one of them could disassemble a scouter. It just wouldn't be at the same level of sophistication as a technician.

"How old is that kid, anyway?"

_What the hell, Nappa, what does her age matter?_

Tyber simply responded that she was eighteen. _Hm._ Not that Vegeta actually cared, but he would have thought her younger since she was five at their meeting. But still, why did Nappa—

"She single?"

 _What the hell._ "NAPPA!" Vegeta burst, forgetting himself for a moment.

Fortunately for him, the coward had yelled at the same time he did, he only added: "You're old enough to be her _father_!"

There was a pause from Nappa, some noises as he adjusted his scouter, muttering something about a weird echo going on. "I didn't mean for _me_ ," he eventually said in a perturbed tone. "Vegeta seems interested in her."

 _NOT LIKE **THAT**!_ Vegeta's thoughts screamed, _he_ wanted to scream, but at the same time it would have blown his cover.

"You know it's not like that…" the coward's voice came softly, speaking Vegeta's thoughts for him without realizing it. "She told me…about how they met as children. He's going to kill her."

 _Not so soon,_ he mentally corrected while Nappa stumbled over his words trying to find some defense of the prince. No, after twelve years of waiting it would have been anticlimactic to kill her immediately; he wanted to savor that revenge, see those eyes turn from disdain to fear as she realized his superiority and begged for mercy. Maybe he would spare her if she asked nicely.

"He's _not_ ," Nappa insisted. "He…well, tell ya the truth, he said something kinda intense when I asked him about it."

"…What."

_Oh, indifferent gods of the universe, Nappa, what the hell._

"He said, uh, 'she's mine to toy with'—exactly like that. Vegeta just plays games sometimes, you know?"

"Oh, _gods alive_ ," came the tortured reply. "—Fuck, Nappa, she said something _like that_ too, 'he wouldn't want to end the game that quickly.' What is _wrong_ with these kids?!"

"Beats me, pal."

Vegeta felt a strange thrill wiggle in his chest at the fact _she_ also saw it as a game. _Wonderful, that makes things **much** more interesting._

Unfortunately, Vegeta's triumphant thoughts about how the future in pursuing his target would be so amusing were interrupted by Nappa: "Tyber, it can't be all that bad. Can it? I mean, what about the destined bond?"

 _Nappa!_ He wanted to roar at the scouter until it exploded at what a _ludicrous_ thing his subordinate had just brought up. _That old myth!? That's—_

Again, Tyber spoke his thoughts without realizing with a derisive snort, "The destined bond? That's as fake as the marking."

"…You don't believe in the marking, either?" Nappa sounded genuinely surprised at Tyber's disbelief in some of the oldest most persistent myths of Saiyan culture.

"You _do_?" he retorted. "What are you, _five_?"

 The two older Saiyans argued back and forth about the validity of Saiyan myths; surprisingly, Vegeta found himself agreeing largely with Tyber that every supposed mysticism had a logical explanation to it. The destined bond? Saiyans were competitive and enjoyed fighting, of course they would continually pursue the one person that defeated them, sometimes infatuation just happened to grow from it. The marking? Saiyans were territorial bastards with animalistic tendencies, of course they would get attached to the one favored lay that they chewed on. The one thing Tyber didn't have an explanation for, he only spoke about in a soft, almost disenchanted tone: "I…don't think Super Saiyan is possible."

 _It wouldn't be for **you**_ , Vegeta argued with the coward though he couldn't _actually_ argue with him. That glorious form was _his_ alone to attain as the strongest Saiyan to be born in a thousand years. Their conversation lulled back into the dull musings of Saiyan past, the topic of him and the woman seemed entirely forgotten. Vegeta went to turn off the scouter again, unsure if he was unsatisfied with what he _had_ heard since he didn't even know what he wanted to hear in the first place.

"Nappa…be honest with me, will he…" Tyber took a breath, sounding as though he was on the edge of a hysterical statement. "I've heard things, all right? About you Frieza Force members. Will he…"

He wasn't going to say what Vegeta _thought_ he was going to say.

Surely not.

_He had better not._

"…I'm afraid that this 'game' might end in him forcing himself onto Bulma."

 _HOW **DARE** YOU!!_ Vegeta's outrage howled in his head as he sat bolt upright, ki level skyrocketing in response to the _vulgar insult_. He wanted to find a way to reach through and strangle the coward _right then_ for accusing him of ever doing such a vile thing!

"—Ow, shit," was Nappa's only response for the moment as the scouter picked up on the beeping of Vegeta's own scouter, prompting him to take a deep breath and try to calm down. Nappa muttered something about the scouter needing a tune-up as Vegeta calmly set down his own scouter and kept breathing.

 _…How **dare** he._ His thoughts might have been quieter, but he was still mad. Enraged, even, he should find Tyber and kill him right then for the offense. He could acknowledge he wasn't going anywhere but Hell after he died for the awful things he did under Frieza's command, but at least Vegeta could say he had never done _that_ for all of his barely-there soul being utterly rotten and his heart a colder, deeper void than space.

"Vegeta isn't like that," Nappa defended him with an uncharacteristically gentle tone. "Never, he'd never do something like that.

While the mawkishness of Nappa's tone was revolting, at least Vegeta knew he could trust him to always be on his side.

"…Besides, he's totally inexperienced anyway."

**_GODDAMMIT NAPPA._ **

"Do you often banter about the virginity of your wards?" Tyber asked sounding for all the universe that he would have rather shoved knives into his ears than heard that.

Vegeta _finally_ had enough, hurling the scouter against the wall. It exploded into shards of glass and metal as he stood and stomped out of his quarters to drag Raditz into another session of pummeling in the training room. Damn him, damn _both_ of them. Those old drunkards had some _nerve_ to mock him—the _Prince of All Saiyans_ —that way!

"What was that noise just now?" Raditz mumbled, the haze of sleep still around him as Vegeta insistently pulled him along. "Did you break your scouter? Again?"

"I don't need it!" he insisted in reply. _The coward_ and _she_ could sense energy without scouters, _he_ could too, _and_ he wouldn't have to hear drunk idiots talking! Not that he was going to think of _anything_ anymore but beating up Raditz to let off some steam, he wouldn't, not at all.

It was no use, it turned out, beating up Raditz to the point of him needing to be put in a regen tank didn't make Vegeta feel less inclined to fume about it. Seeing _Nappa_ the next morning in high spirits coming up to him just made him even more furious.

"Did you have _fun_ with the coward?" he asked snidely.

Nappa paused, cocked his head at him in confusion. "First of all, where's Raditz?"

"Still healing, and you had your scouter on you idiot, that's how I know."

He clearly was about to ask _why_ Raditz was in the med wing, but at Vegeta's next statement Nappa's face fell and he rubbed the back of his head. "Aw, I wanted to surprise you with the good news."

"Did you kill the coward for suggesting I had plans to violate the woman?" Vegeta snarled. "If it's not that, I don't care."

"Yeesh, Vegeta, give him a break—the guy was a little drunk, and it's not like it's _irrational_ to worry about a lady friend like that." Nappa knew as well as anyone that Vegeta would _not_ give Tyber a break and being told to even with reasonable explanation would only make him dig his heels in about the subject. He went on to explain, "And that's not the news anyway, the girl requested an audience with Frieza. She's coming here."

 _She's coming here_.

That strange thrilling feeling squirmed around in his chest again, now coming up from his stomach. He understood it for what it was: excitement, anticipation, _relief_ in a smaller way. The relief was foreign to Vegeta, the keenness to meet with his target he knew, it was amplified by the knowledge that _she_ felt the same. Though the woman would inevitably _lose_ in their little game, she would not back away, her pride wouldn't let her. An intelligent, ruthless, prideful creature was quite the worthy rival for the Saiyan prince, even if her combat strength was undoubtedly lacking.

"When?" Vegeta managed to say with a straight face. As if he would ever let Nappa see him _smiling_ at the prospect no matter how much he wanted to, especially not with that nonsense talking about _the bond_ the other night.

_Game on, you vulgar woman._

 

* * *

 

 

"Bulma, this is my…friend, Kabosu," Tahaya had said in an atypically careful tone when they arrived at the planet Frieza was currently staying on. There was a Frieza Force soldier waiting for them at the docking port, this person would be guiding them through the base right to Frieza himself.

Bulma raised her eyebrows at a couple of things: Tahaya calling one of Frieza's men her _friend_ , one of Frieza's men being there to guide them, and actually she wasn't one of Frieza's _men_ she was a woman. From Bulma's understanding the bases were segregated by gender, so what was a woman doing on one of the bases she knew for certain mostly had male soldiers?

Kabosu was a stunning woman, at that; tall, though not as tall as Tahaya, light green skin, dark green hair curled expertly into loose waves over her shoulders, and sharp highly feminine golden eyes. Overall her colors reminded Bulma of a malachite gem, skin the color of the light striations, and darkest parts the color of her hair. Her attire didn't set her apart from the rest of Frieza's soldiers, however, the only marked difference was the multiple piercings in her ears and her armor…conforming to her chest.

 _Seriously? They make the girls wear boob-plates?_ Bulma wanted to ask but kept it to herself for then as she wasn't sure of Kabosu's personality. After all, she was still one of Frieza's soldiers, just because Tahaya hesitantly called her a _friend_ didn't mean she was.

 _What are "boob-plates"?_ Mosto asked her via telepathy—the sole…male-conforming Patroller on the mission to meet with Frieza.

 _I'm not talking about this with you. And get out of my head!_ Bulma smiled graciously at Tahaya's "friend" instead, holding out her hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you, Kabosu!"

A smile curved over Kabosu's face as she took Bulma's hand in reply, grip surprisingly gentle for such an imposing woman. "Pleased to meet you," she said in a light almost musical voice. "Aya's told me quite a bit about the spunky new recruit."

"Aya?" she repeated, looking at Tahaya out of the corner of her eye suspiciously. "Is that what you call Taya?"

Tahaya flushed maroon as Kabosu laughed and came over to link arms with her. "And you call her Taya? That's so cute! Of course, Aya's one of my dearest friends."

 _Huh._ She seemed very nice, so why was she in Frieza's army?

 _Everybody has their reasons for something,_ Mosto said cryptically. He spoke aloud then: "Kabosu and Tahaya want to make sure you don't get distracted by the men in the base."

"Oh my god, you _guys_!" Bulma wailed, face immediately heating up. "Are you crazy?!"

"I know for a _fact_ you'd get stuck on Zarbon," Tahaya said ominously. "I shared my concerns with Kabosu. She's the same species as Zarbon, so she's got the best perspective on the matter."

While Bulma huffed about the (very true) accusations, Kabosu took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, Zarbon _looks_ handsome, but he's a vain, pompous, nasty brute."

"You don't have to tell me that!" she insisted, clenching her hands into fists.

"One more thing," Kabosu cautioned, gesturing at herself. "Our race is capable of transformation. Most of us preferred this form, Zarbon especially, but when we decided that we needed to unleash all of our power—"

There was a burst of ki taking over Bulma's senses as Kabosu seemed to grow larger, more animalistic in appearance. She couldn't help backing away in terror, stopped only by the solid wall of Mosto directly behind her. _Oh god,_ it was a hideous creature—like a weird cross between something reptilian and only vaguely human. And, worst of all, it was _powerful_. Whoever Zarbon was, Bulma knew for certain they were telling her loud and clear that he was pretty damn ugly on the inside.

Kabosu took a breath again, exhaled, slowly shrinking back into her regular form. "Sorry, I didn't want to scare you."

"Th-that's okay," Bulma stammered, trying to ignore that her knees were shaking so badly Mosto had to put his hands on her shoulders to steady her. "Y…you're really strong."

"And Zarbon is stronger," Tahaya added. "Now then, let's go, and no distractions, okay Bubu?"

Though Bulma grumbled about there being no need for such a visceral demonstration, the group was able to move on from the hangar below and into the upper halls. Some soldiers, going about their business, stopped to watch them curiously as they went by—of course Galactic Patrollers weren't common to see around a base, women probably less so. Bulma kept her gaze straight ahead stubbornly, Tahaya and Kabosu at her sides and Mosto at her back.

"So, Kabosu…" she eventually could no longer resist asking. "Why are you here? I thought Frieza kept his male and female soldiers separate? Aren't you worried about—"

"They know I'd kill them if any of them tried to touch me," Kabosu interrupted, her grin showing a hint of fangs. "Besides, they're generally more into women who are small and can't transform into hideous monsters. Easier to dominate for even the weakest man, you know?"

"Yeah," Bulma muttered, shooting a glare at any soldier whose stare lingered on her for too long. She hoped she gave off an equal level of _touch me and I'll kill you_ aura as Kabosu did, despite undoubtedly being the most attractive woman those goons had probably seen in months.

One gaze she caught, she could not rip her eyes from.

Very familiar pitch-black eyes watched her with that same indifferent air as she walked past, he was leaned against a doorway with his arms crossed looking as nonchalant as possible.

_Him._

Their eyes met, a mutual burning that didn't want to pull away from one another despite the distance. It occurred to Bulma that she shouldn't have been acknowledging Vegeta's presence, she was on that godforsaken base to meet with Frieza, not stare at a childhood rival that came back like a bad penny. Yet, the only thing that forced her to look away finally was passing the doorway and the knowledge that it would look _very_ obvious if she just kept walking with her head turned around. Bulma tried not to overthink on why he was _there_ of all places ( _like what, was he just standing there the whole time waiting for me?_ ) she instead justified it to herself that Vegeta wouldn't have known she was coming, he couldn't sense ki without a scouter. She tried not to think about how angry she was that Vegeta had _threatened_ Tyber while she was gone—for what reason? It didn't matter, when her business with Frieza was done, she'd deal with Vegeta.

The pressure of power she felt as she approached the room where Frieza waited made her forget him entirely, however. How could anyone contain such an overbearing amount of ki? If Bulma had to gauge it on a scouter, if it could go that high, it would have been somewhere in the range of 500,000. It absolutely dwarfed every person she knew on the Patrol as well as the Saiyans. She clenched her teeth, mentally preparing herself as Kabosu announced their coming in over the intercom on the door.

"Lord Frieza, your visitors have arrived."

Right, they needed to be reverent and call him _Lord Frieza_ Bulma reminded herself. Kabosu turned to them and said that was where she had to part with them, exchanging a look with Tahaya as if trying to give her strength. "It was nice meeting you, Bulma," she called over her shoulder as she left. "Let's go out some time!"

Bulma smiled faintly, waving to Kabosu as door slid open, revealing a large room with a window at the back, overlooking the planet. A figure in the middle stood patiently with his arms behind his back, he had light purple skin with pink patches of flesh. His head looked to have a white helmet with a shiny purple orb on it, jet black horns jut out directly from the "helmet" leading Bulma to believe it was part of his head entirely. Frieza was a small but imposing presence, she couldn't ignore the primal fear that roiled in her stomach at the mere sight of him.

The two aliens on either side of him were clearly his strongest lackeys, one a large creature that resembled Tahaya (and happened to be giving an ugly stare directly at her) and the other a handsome man with long braided hair. Just like Kabosu said, that must have been Zarbon, and Bulma was exasperated to find that she _did_ have the first reaction to want to flirt with him. She could _feel_ Mosto smirking at her as she reminded herself of what lied beneath the man's good looks.

"My, my," Frieza's voice surprised her with how polite and sophisticated it was, he regarded her with a smile that didn't touch his eyes and exuded no sincerity. "Patrollers coming to visit me, this is a rare treat indeed."

Her group bowed their heads, murmuring greetings to "Lord Frieza" while Bulma was distracted for the moment. When it occurred to her that she _needed_ to do the same, she lowered her head, keeping her eyes squarely on his as she did, winning smile in place. "Lord Frieza," she greeted in her most charming tone. "I'm tech officer Bulma Briefs, I'm honored to finally meet you."

The two at Frieza's side made a motion like they were going to walk forward, only stopped by Frieza's tail flicking. "Gentlemen, what are you doing?" he asked calmly.

"Lord Frieza, she's clearly disrespecting you!" the large pink one protested.

"Is that for you to decide, Mr. Dodoria?" Frieza said, affecting curiosity.

Dodoria shuddered, Zarbon winced, and both men stepped back. "N-no, Lord Frieza, I'm sorry," Dodoria muttered, looking down at the floor.

Bulma took a breath, smile still in place. "No disrespect ever intended, Lord Frieza, but I do have a request."

"And what would that be, my dear?"

She felt her skin crawl at the affectionate tone but continued, "I salvaged a scouter on my last mission." Though Frieza cocked his head at her inquisitively, she kept going on, "I wanted to ask for your permission to modify it."

The abominable alien laughed, raising his hand to his mouth regally. "Oh my! _You're_ the ingenious little one the King has been speaking about!"

Bulma sensed Tahaya and Mosto tense behind her, she only feigned a surprised expression. "The King has been?"

"Yes, yes, we chat quite often when he's not asleep, he's had nothing but glowing praise for his new technician. I'm surprised that you've taken an interest in my scouters."

He might have been surprised only because nobody expected her to be as smart as she was on first appearance, not that Bulma had the luxury of calling Frieza out on anything. "They're quite interesting devices," she said truthfully. "Ever since I first heard about them I've been wanting to experiment with one, but I wasn't going to do anything without your permission of course."

"Why, I'm touched to hear such kind words!"

God, Bulma wanted to throw up at hearing his cooing, he was _just_ like the old men on Earth. The only thing she could give to Frieza over them was he wasn't making comments on her appearance or looking at her lewdly.

"You have my full permission to do as you please with the scouter," he said amiably, holding out his hands. "I'm very curious to see what you'll do with it!"

"Thank you, Lord Frieza." Bulma bowed her head graciously. _Mosto I want to leave now,_ she thought frantically to Mosto.

Mosto used his psychic abilities to activate his communicator, faking a call from HQ and saying they needed to leave but it was very nice to chat.

"It was delightful talking to you, my dear," the horrible lizard called as they left. "Keep me in mind if you find the Patrol isn't fulfilling your needs for you anymore, I _might_ have a job for you!"

Bulma shuddered when the door slid shut behind them. "He's gross, right?" she said, feeling like she was going to throw up.

"He is," Tahaya agreed. "He's the most disgusting thing in the universe."

"Let's not linger for too much longer," Mosto cautioned. "We should head back to HQ immediately."

She sensed that presence again, felt that stare. Ah, yes, her other business she had to attend to. "You guys go on ahead." Bulma set herself into a neutral stance, making absolutely sure that her ki was at a low level in case the man she intended to speak with _had_ somehow learned how to perceive sans scouter. "I need a second."

"All right," said Tahaya, giving her an odd look. "But we're definitely headed to the spa afterward to wash off the stink, right?"

"Definitely," Bulma laughed.

Mosto only shook his head, casting her a concerned look of warning to be careful as he usually did. Nonetheless, the two left her there in the hall, alone with _him_.

Vegeta had moved from the doorway, but still watched her with those dark eyes of his. They stood there simply staring at each other for a long moment, Bulma couldn't tell what he was thinking from his expression, he was damn good at hiding it. Her eyes ticked over him, taking in the full picture of the Saiyan.

 _Ugh._ Still unfairly good-looking, in a fascinating rough way. Why did it always have to be the ones that want to kill her?

Upon noticing his expression changed to mildly inquisitive at her inspection, Bulma steeled her nerves and began her slow, purposeful walk up to the prince to _warn_ him as she intended. One step, two steps, she exuded the confidence she didn't exactly feel in his presence, betraying no weakness or fear.

Bulma stopped short of him, just an arm's length away. "Prince Vegeta," she said, smiling warmly. "It's been a while. Twelve years?"

He didn't respond, only watching her hand as it came up like she was going to shake his hand. 

"Tech officer Bulma Briefs," she placed her hand directly on his shoulder, leaning close to his ear to speak in a low conspiring tone, "I know you're playing a game. I'll play with you, but you need to know _I won't lose_."

"You're awfully confident," he finally chuckled. His voice was unexpectedly deep and gravelly, breath washing against the side of her neck, causing a light shiver (much to her annoyance, damn her sensitive skin). 

Bulma stood back, smirking mischievously at him. "I never lose." Her expression hardened, crossing her arms, and glaring. "But—you leave my friends out of it, this is between you and me, no one else."

Vegeta mirrored her expression, though she turned on her heel and walked away before he could give another arrogant non-answer. She still felt his eyes on her as she proceeded to the place where Tahaya and Mosto were waiting. He was a persistent one, Bulma could give him that as far as any measure of admiration went. 

She stopped at the door at the end of the hall, looking over her shoulder back at him, giving him a final grin. 

_Come and get me._

 

* * *

Tyber didn't nearly appreciate her success with getting Frieza's permission to work on the scouter as he immediately pulled Bulma into training when she returned. He pulled off his limiters entirely, going at her with full strength. 

"Ugh, Tyber!" she whined, blocking his attacks as she was able, sweeping under his legs to grab him by the ankles and tip him over. "You're way too strong! Can't you go easy?" 

"Your enemy _will not_ ," he insisted, easily shaking her off despite being successfully grappled to the ground. 

"But _you_ —" Bulma somersaulted away to avoid his punches, gathering up her ki for a stunning blast. "—Are still way too strong!" 

He stopped then, not standing up from the floor but instead sitting and watching her contemplatively. "…Do you suppose you would do better training against a more equal opponent?" 

"I don't know," she groaned, releasing her ki when she realized he wasn't attacking. "I know I have zero experience with actual fights, but I'm not a Saiyan, you know? It's not like continuously beating me down is going to make me stronger." 

Tyber continued watching her, tail swaying back and forth in a gesture of contemplating a couple of solutions in his mind. "...All right." He stood up, brushing himself off and going to retrieve his jacket. "Then I will take you to a more equal opponent." 

"Huh? What do you mean?" Bulma came up to her teacher's side, patting him on the shoulder as if she needed to get his attention.

As expected for him, he brushed off her touch with obvious discomfort. "You don't have plans to go home again, do you?"

It would be March soon judging by her calendar, Bulma had planned to call Yamcha to wish him happy birthday, other than that she shook her head and told him no still mystified as to what he was intending.

"Then, I'm going to take you to my home. It's time to meet my family, Bulma."

Bulma, knowing that Tyber disliked spontaneous affection jumped up and threw her arms around him in excitement. "It's about _damn time_ , Tyber!"

"…Please get off me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ended up being more of a jump-off to other things chapter, and not having very much of Frieza despite the chapter title. Well. Next chapter we're meeting some new friends anyway!
> 
> (Don't worry, Raditz is fine, he just needed a long day off after recovering from Vegeta's idea of training.)
> 
> (Vegeta also internally was like "I don't know what to SAY, why can't I think of anything??" in the last scene.)


	11. The Moon on its Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyber reveals a couple of more secrets, Bulma meets his family, Raditz doesn't have enough tea to deal with Vegeta's bullshit and Vegeta doesn't have enough anything to deal with Cui's bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there will be mention of child abuse going on here, just as a warning.

There were a few times Raditz wished he had simply cut and run from his companions he had been stuck with post planetary destruction. Sitting in the mess hall slowly chewing bland nutrient biscuits to get back his strength after leaving the regen tank while they told him conflicting accounts of the same story was the most recent time.

From what Vegeta told, they found another Saiyan—only he was a Patroller and not only resistant but actively scornful of them. Nappa said his name was Tyber and honestly, he wasn't so bad, just "kind of fucked in the head" and quiet. Raditz had started on his tea when Vegeta got to the topic of the she-devil Patroller— _his target_ (Raditz mentally put sarcastic air quotes on that) he was going to play some ridiculous sadistic game with.

( _Whatever, as long as you don't involve me._ As much as he would have _loved_ to engage in a good old-fashioned game of sadism usually, that _demon_ was something else entirely.)

Vegeta took great pains detailing their first face to face conversation in over a decade, smirking like he had planned the whole thing. Nappa said she was only a year younger than the two of them and while the prince was acting like a weird stalker about it, he obviously was infatuated with her. His royal highness punched his righthand man with a nasty left hook and they got into a scuffle by the time Raditz got his second cup of tea.

"All right," he said after taking a long sip and the two had stopped their fighting. "What now?"

"There's not much that can be done for the moment, not without Frieza noticing," Vegeta admitted with a scowl. "If too much free time is taken, especially to mess around with alien Patrollers, he might not be all that pleased with it."

Raditz rested his elbow on the table, chin in hand, staring at his long-time pain in the ass partner in purging. "And you didn't ask the demoness about Kakarot?"

As expected, Vegeta threw a tantrum, "Why the _hell_ would I do that, Raditz?!"

"Nah," Nappa interjected with a shit-eating grin. "He was too busy getting hot under the collar 'cause a girl touched him."

Raditz decided to get another cup of tea as Vegeta punched Nappa square in the jaw a second time. By the time he returned, Nappa was shifting around his jaw but still had that smug grin on his face, Vegeta was positively fuming. "Anyway, I'm not interested in getting involved with your game. I'd like to stay as far away from that demon bitch as possible, unless it's to get information about Kakarot," Raditz explained as he swirled his tea around.

"Bulma."

"Huh?"

Vegeta had a look about him that said something offended him about the declaration. Raditz would have figured it was him stating he _wouldn't_ help him in his game, but that wouldn't have made sense for the " _I don't need anyone blah blah blah_ " Prince of all Saiyans. "Her name is Bulma, I'll thank you _not_ to call her anything like 'demon' or 'bitch' in my presence." At his subordinates raising their eyebrows at him, he simply crossed his arms and huffed, "That's for _me_ to do."

Nappa, oddly, decided to get a cup of tea himself at that time rather than make a comment, leaving Raditz to uneasily look at Vegeta in silence. "…You wouldn't actually thank me," he finally said. "You'd just hit me less." 

The two stared at each other for a moment, both knew that he was _right,_ but one didn't want to admit it and the other didn't want to get punched for pointing it out.

"Ah, he's already developing a liking to dirty talk, my little Vegeta grew up so fast," Nappa said what he had probably been holding back the entire time, patting the prince on the shoulder as he sat down again. 

"Shut the hell up, Nappa!" 

 _Huh and here I thought cursing was below someone of his station,_ Raditz thought in tones of pure sarcasm. Of course he had heard Vegeta curse before, several times, especially if he was having a fit about something not going his way. The illustrious Prince of all Saiyans ( _please hold your applause, ladies and gentlemen_ ) played at being more refined than any other soldier, but he was just as much a soldier in the end. And a foul-tempered childish one, at that. "Bulma's a stupid name, anyway," Raditz said with a shrug. 

"I dunno," the older Saiyan began. "I kinda like it, it's different. I hope you don't kill her too soon, Vegeta, it'd be a real waste." 

"I'm shocked you didn't say some harebrained perverse thing like I should seduce her to add insult to injury," Vegeta responded with a perplexed look. 

Raditz was surprised _Vegeta_ even thought of that, brought it up of his own volition, _and_ didn't have any pissy comment about him calling the hell-demon-bitch's name stupid. 

"You're making me so proud, Vegeta, you're growing up to be a real man," Nappa affected a weepy tone, pretending to dab at his eyes. "You're actually thinking about women like—"

"I AM DOING _NO SUCH THING!_ "

Raditz decided that there wasn't enough tea to deal with hearing them argue about inconsequential things and took his third ( _or was it fourth_ ) cup before excusing himself. He could hear Nappa and Vegeta continuing to argue back and forth about _true intentions_ and Nappa relating it back to some sort of comedy of errors play he watched.

 _"You know, I could say the same thing about **your** name, Raditz,"_ a female voice buzzed at him from his scouter.

On impulse, Raditz slapped his hand to the device as if it was experiencing an error—not too hard, he didn't want to break the admittedly very old thing. "Excuse me?" he gasped instead of answering with his usual impatient _WHAT_.

_"I said you're calling **my** name stupid, while I'm minding my own business with tinkering on this scouter, but here you are being a radish without shame. Seriously?"_

"YOU." Raditz's tail lashed, fur puffing up indignantly as he realized _who_ was speaking to him from the scouter so casually. "Demon bitch!"

Vegeta wasn't there, it didn't count.

 _"Man, did you kiss your mother with that mouth?"_ said the woman without skipping a beat (and leaving him no time to react to such a _vulgar_ suggestion as kissing his mother), she was probably quite experienced with people calling her a bitch or a demon. _"And here I am about to help you out of the kindness of my heart, so you can stop making an ass of yourself."_

Raditz's own heart stuttered, tail calming down and resuming being wrapped around his waist. _Help? Help with what?_ "Pfft," he scoffed instead, putting on a show of bravado. " _Kindness_ from you? I'd believe that from Vegeta first."

As if. Didn't she know that if they were face to face, she would be under his boot right then? He'd pull and twist her as terribly as she did to her fellow officer that day, _remind_ her of her inferiority to his strength. _…Or no, I don't think so, Vegeta probably wouldn't like that. He probably wants to do that **himself**. _

Vegeta always had to ruin his fun.

 _"Yeah right, also are you seriously still mad about me shooting you? Come on, I warned you that I would, it's your fault for not taking my warning."_ If her face could be seen she might have been rolling her eyes. _"Just listen to me a second, would you? I don't have much time until I have to go on a trip."_

"Where?" he asked without thinking that he didn't really _care_ about that.

 _"With my teacher to meet his family, planet None of Your Business—now shut up and listen."_ A pause, Raditz heard some clicking. _"Right. Now we're on a private channel."_

" _How_?" was Raditz's first reaction despite trying to convince himself he didn't care.

_"I remotely hacked your scouter and created a channel via—"_

"Okay shut up, I don't care that much. Get to the point." As long as they weren't being overheard.

_"I don't know Kakarot."_

"Liar!" Raditz barked, gaining the attention of other soldiers around him for a brief second. "You _do_ know him! You have him enslaved under your wretched rule!"

 _"Wow, you've got an active imagination,"_ Bulma said, sounding genuinely impressed. _"But I'm being serious, his name isn't Kakarot on my planet, it's Goku."_

 _What? Kakarot changed his name on Earth? Why?_ Raditz looked around him before ducking into his room, sitting heavily on his bed to consider that information. "…It was Bulma, wasn't it? What do you mean?" He should have reminded her right then that she was lucky he even acknowledged her ridiculous name and was _giving_ her rein to talk. She was not the dominant one in the conversation, absolutely not.

 _"He was picked up by an inhabitant of my planet and renamed years before I met him, he's been living life as Son Goku,"_ she explained. _"And he's one of my best friends."_

"I was figuring you were his woman," Raditz admitted, trying to keep up mentally with the metaphorical bombs the crazy woman was dropping onto him. Kakarot didn't even remember who he was? Didn't their parents leave a message in his pod? It didn't make any sense!

Bulma took a moment to break into very ladylike wheezing laughter at his admittance. _"Oh my god!"_ she cried. _"Are you kidding me? He's still a little kid! He's more like a **brother** to me now!"_

 _A brother? But he's not **your** brother, he's mine!_ Raditz thought with shades of what he understood to be jealousy. Honestly, speaking to the woman about Kakarot wasn't what he expected it would be—he thought it would involve more threats and intimidation, possibly getting blasted, but she had been almost _friendly_ with him. So, she was capable of feeling emotions besides hate and thirst for violence? Unbelievable. _But then again, if she has sentiment, that can be exploited._ "Kakarot is still on Earth?" he asked instead of attempting to say everything that was on his mind.

 _"Goku,"_ she corrected.

" _Kakarot_ is the name _our parents_ gave him," Raditz growled. "I will _not_ call him by anything else!"

_"…Okay, fair enough."_

Fair enough? He had expected her to argue with him more about it, he supposed invoking their parents mollified the woman. Good, that would make it much easier to manipulate her.

 _"Anyway,"_ she continued with a sigh. _"He's still on Earth, he's training for the world marital arts tournament next year."_

"You have tournaments specifically for fighting?" he asked, impressed despite himself. "—No, wait—are you going to take me to Kakarot?!"

There was a long pause on the other end, Raditz feared for a moment that she had cut and run until she came back with, _"I would like to, Raditz. But we need to plan it carefully."_  

His stomach flipped, and his heart fluttered—what was that, relief? Yes, it must have been relief. "You—you really will?" His voice had taken on a strange, hopeful tone really quite unlike the usual demeanor for Saiyans. (He would insist it was part of the plan to influence her emotions.) "You _want_ me to meet him?" 

Surely she knew that if they met, Raditz would start grooming his little brother for a life of conquest, didn't she? 

 _"I've been wanting to find Goku's family for a while now,"_ she confessed softly. _"And…I heard the message your parents left him in his pod. They want you to be together and—look I'm not gonna lie, I know you're not exactly a **good** person, but I want to honor that wish."_

 _…Oh. Oh._ She was being sincere with him—this was kindness, wasn't it? Raditz found kindness and sympathy revolting (he really did!) but something about her declaration and tone was soothing. He found himself thinking Bulma _wasn't_ as bad as he had built her up to be for all those years. For a moment he felt sorry that Vegeta was going to torment and kill her down the line; Nappa was right, it was an awful waste.

No, that was ridiculous! She made the mistake of showing _compassion_ and he would exploit that! He didn't care what happened to _her_. 

_"I have to go now, I'll talk to you later, Raditz, okay?"_

"…Fine then. Later." His voice caught before he could refer to her by name aloud. _Don't do that, it's not like she's your **friend** , warriors don't have friends. She's up to something. She must be. _He told himself the same thing on repeat: warriors did not have friends, sentiment was to be exploited, use her and lose her. Don't start thinking of her as some _secret friend_ or whatever, or that she was kind, or that she was on his side and wanted him to be back with Kakarot. _Because you're going to take Kakarot **off** that backwater mudball and teach him all about what it means to be a Saiyan, that's how it's going to be._  

It was sickening how _nice_ the whole conversation was. 

It reminded him of his mother. 

 _Don't insult Mother, you moron!_ _She was **much** better than that—that—lady! _ He couldn't bring himself to call her demonic or other derogatory epithets anymore, somehow. He continued to remind himself that he was going to take advantage of her foolish sentiment and take Kakarot _back_ , Raditz didn't give a damn what happened to her.

_I really don't! Vegeta can k—_

He could kill her. Raditz didn't care. He _didn't_. But he couldn't conceive the idea of that woman dead or harmed anymore without feeling light distress. He didn't like that feeling. He didn't like feeling _concern_. He didn't like having the faint thought that if Kakarot was her friend and like a brother to her, didn't that make Raditz _her_ brother as well. Would she accept him as a brother just the same? What would Kakarot think, wouldn't he be heartbroken to lose someone dear to him and Raditz made no attempt to intervene?

 _No. No, I don't care!_ Raditz stubbornly rolled over onto his bed, stuffing his pillows over his head to block out the ridiculous warring thoughts. He would need more rest before going back to his usual duties, and just in case Vegeta wanted to train (senselessly thrash him while ranting about nonsense) again. 

_I really don't care!_

 

* * *

 

 

Once again, Vegeta's big mouth got him into trouble. He really _hadn't_ intended to give Nappa the idea that he thought anything _close_ to vulgar about the woman—he never even told him about the weird kissing dream(s) when he was younger. But oh no, Prince Vegeta of the proud royal family of Planet Vegeta had to babble without thinking and _mention_ the idea of seducing his target. 

(It was all that lower-class coward's fault! _He_ had to go and bring up the idea that Vegeta thought _anything like that_.) 

He wouldn't run, he wouldn't excuse himself, he wouldn't scream at Nappa as he made that _obscene_ finger-wagging gesture while talking about how she _must_ have been exactly like a Saiyan woman in all departments. He thought he reacted quite well, overall, flipping the table over onto Nappa and leaving with a significant uptick of his power. Not that anybody but him would have realized he was actively practicing being able to increase and decrease his power at will. Learning how to sense ki needed refining (he still kept a scouter handy just in case), but repressing his power was something he immediately mastered—just like the coward said, of _course_ Vegeta would pick it all up with no problem. The fools around him reliant on scouters had _no_ idea. 

Raditz had gone to bed early, he noticed. _Lazy fool._  (Not that he really cared what Raditz did, it wasn't like they were friends or even equals, it was only that thrashing him again would have been convenient to blow off steam.) He absolutely _did not_ want to talk to Nappa anymore at that time. He decided then he would simply go and do some solo training to keep himself occupied. Vegeta didn't want to let his mind wander in case it betrayed him again, it was a small miracle that he had managed to not make a damned fool of himself in front of Bulma at their meeting. It was maddening that he just _couldn't_ think of anything to say, he tried to turn it over in his head and find out what went wrong or if she did something actively—maybe some hidden technique. 

First, she spoke his title and his name. Though Vegeta knew very well the woman's voice could be unbearably shrill, especially when angered, something about the way his name rolled off her tongue with that feminine lilt was _enjoyable_. Perhaps she cast a spell? Was her species capable of magic? No, that wouldn't make sense he decided, otherwise why would she bother with engineering weapons or any ki skills. From his experience, aliens reliant on magic usually depended on it alone. 

He went over the memory again. All right, so she said his name and acknowledged how long it had been since they first met. Then what? She boldly walked up to him and introduced herself, to which he _should_ have said that he already knew her name. (The hypothetical image of Bulma blushing shyly at him saying that clashed with the fear Vegeta truly wanted.) He would have said that, of course. 

Then she touched his shoulder and leaned _very close_ to him. 

Vegeta should have pushed her off or backhanded her for the insolence, he _hated_ being touched casually (no, he hated being touched _period_ ). But he felt her lips brush his ear as she spoke, her warm breath, her being close enough to _smell_ , and something in him promptly shut down. Luckily Bulma couldn't see his face and the flabbergasted look at first reaction. Why did she do that? It wasn't as though she _needed_ to tell him in low tones like that, they were the only ones around ( _or were we?_ ) but still, Bulma accepted the game for what it was and would play along.

_"I won't lose."_

A smirk came to his face at the memory, just as it did then. Oh, she was a spirited one, all right. The turn on her heel and the proud toss of her hair showed just how resolute she was about the whole thing; Vegeta had even forgotten to be annoyed that there was implication she _knew_ he spoke with her cowardly teacher and was telling him to back off. He forgot that Tyber was part of the equation entirely when she looked over her shoulder at him with that roguish smile.

 _Come and get me_ , said the gesture. Deliberately inflaming, confident, and goddamned _beautiful_.

 _…Ugh_. The fact that he thought the last bit at all was Nappa's fault, it must have been. Saiyans don't call things beautiful, that's not a Saiyan thing. 

"Hey, Vegeta!"

Vegeta's thoughts were broken by a hand landing on his shoulder, on impulse he shoved it off feeling his mood curdle. _Seriously?_ "Go away, Cui." He didn't even have to turn around to know who was bothering him right then, without the irritating voice and overly familiar gesture the nuisance's ki signature was unmistakable. Almost equal to his. Almost. Used to be. _Not anymore._

The frog-faced idiot didn't go away but instead circled around to face him with a conceited expression. "Word's going around you fancy the Patroller that came here visiting Lord Frieza," he snickered as though he had full advantage in that situation. 

Vegeta scoffed, almost spit contemptuously before reminding himself doing that indoors was disgusting and would get him into trouble. "It certainly is _not_ going around and that is _not_ the case," he asserted, moving past the pest to his real destination. 

Cui persisted, following after Vegeta and speaking in a not-so-subtly raised voice: "Oh, _really_? I saw you getting rather cozy with her the other day." 

He froze in place, slowly turning his head to look over his shoulder at the toad-mouthed jackass. "Excuse me?" Vegeta's tone turned to the one where he was only seconds away from obliterating someone, eyes piercing right into Cui's.

Oblivious to cues of murder from him, Cui stopped and jeered, "What's the matter? Don't want me knowing about your little playmate? Afraid I'll—"

"I don't give a shit _what_ you do to her," he interrupted, turning sharply to face him. Vegeta was aware he was lying, if Cui or _any_ of Frieza's other scum laid a hand on _his target_ they would be a smear on the wall right after. However, he didn't want anyone implying or instigating a connection that was _more_ than it truly was, it'd be bothersome down the line especially with her having met Frieza already. He couldn't count on that sick bastard to _not_ take an interest in her engineering skills and decide—

 _Ugh_. He heard them speaking to each other over his scouter, he would admit that, he was curious about what they were discussing. Vegeta imagined the level of disgust Bulma must have felt vividly as Frieza went on with his "my dear"s and all that crap. It must have been quite a lot, a woman like that didn't need the fawning of strangers, she abhorred it even if she didn't have the choice to actively reject Frieza's attentions. After she left the meeting with Frieza he heard him say, "I might just have to steal her from Kato, gentlemen," with a sickening chuckle that made Vegeta's skin crawl and turn off the scouter in revulsion.

 ** _Ugh_**. "Kato" as it turned out was the Galaxy King's true name before he was crowned, nobody but Frieza ever had the nerve to call him it (Vegeta just didn't care about addressing people unworthy of his time by name). There were rumors the alien was powerful in his own right, but not strong enough to stand against Frieza—nobody was. Further rumors stated the Patrol even _tried_ to stand up to him a few centuries ago but, of course, failed. Even though Kato was a soft-hearted creature, he would be left no choice but to give in to Frieza's demands and hand over his prized technician. _Like hell that's going to happen, that woman would spit in Frieza's face before ever serving him._ She would undoubtedly be killed after that, but she would go down in history as the bravest goddamned idiot that _formerly_ lived.

Something about her dying that way was rather upsetting, though.

"Is that right?"

 _Ughhhhh._ Cui was still there. Vegeta sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and trying not to roll his eyes. Why wouldn't he just _go away_. "That's right," he insisted while thinking he would have loved nothing more than to just smash Cui's skull against the wall. " _I_ don't. But Lord Frieza would, would he not?"

 _Ha_. That got the idiot to shut up and look rightfully nervous. "W-well…"

"And—" Vegeta went for the jugular (while wishing it wasn't just a metaphor, _that_ would rid him of Cui). "Lord Frieza can hear us right now, can't he?"

Cui's eyes bulged, sweat breaking out in a most unpleasant way.

"If you want my thoughts on the matter, I doubt he would appreciate you talking about doing _anything_ to a Patroller." He smirked at the nuisance already backing away. "What's the matter, Cui? You look pale."

The Patrol and Frieza had an understanding, an unspoken but mutual agreement to not interfere with one another or harm anybody associated. Frieza sadistically enjoyed keeping the Galactic King under his thumb and having full control of the group despite their credence to enact justice. Any of his men spoiling that by being impulsive would be punished without mercy or time to explain themselves.

"L-Lord Frieza!" Cui screeched into his scouter, causing Vegeta to flinch at the feedback. "I was just—I wasn't going to do anything! But-but-but—what if _Vegeta_ is fraternizing with her!?"

There was a buzz and Frieza's pompous laugh came back in response, "Oh come now, Cui. Vegeta doesn't fraternize with aliens, nor does he _get cozy_ as you said. Don't you have a mission to go on rather than making up wild stories?"

 _That's right, I don't._ Vegeta continued to give Cui the haughtiest damn stare down of his life as the other backed away stammering apologies to Frieza and _finally_ scampered away.

"…Although," Frieza added coolly as Vegeta turned back to his determined stride to the training rooms. "If you _were_ to fraternize, I suppose she would be quite a fetching asset."

 _Oh goddammit,_ what was with everyone lately?! "I barely tolerate the 'assets' of my own species, Lord Frieza," he forced himself to say with a calm tone. "I have no interest in fraternizing with aliens whatsoever."

"Good, be sure you keep it that way, my dear Vegeta."

Gods-that-don't-exist, he _hated_ it when Frieza called him _dear_. Not that Vegeta could do anything about it besides speaking affirmatives and over and outs like a good little soldier before making his escape into the training room at last. Nobody else had better cross him that day, he would kill them no questions asked and no exceptions.

Something sick nested in the pit of his stomach at the thought of _Cui_ watching him and Bulma together and only added to his rage. That slimy cretin had no right, even though nothing very _intimate_ was happening, it still felt like a violation of their privacy. It almost spoiled a perfectly good memory of a meeting between rivals (maybe that was why, Cui kept insisting _he_ was Vegeta's rival. As if.)

Almost. He could still feel the amusement from Bulma trying to act in control and tough but not-so-secretly being terrified of him. After all, she shuddered when he spoke—that meant something, didn't it?

_Stupid woman._

 

* * *

 

 

 _You really **are** stupid, Bulma,_ her thoughts chided as she looked out the expanse of space rushing past their tiny craft. Tyber was piloting, taking them to "home"—or what he called "The Vanishing Point" which was an oddly poetic name for a planet—but Bulma had remained quiet the entire time. Her thoughts tumbled around through different things, mostly thinking of several different Saiyans.

Including the one right in front of her.

Tyber's coldness when he spoke about the death ( _murder_ ) of Tarble shocked her, his refusal to acknowledge that his people were permanently scarred and might deserve compassion wrenched at her uncomfortably. Why? He hated them with zealous passion, but he was a Saiyan himself, did that mean _Tyber_ hated himself just the same? His conflict in his expression, the subtle change in his breathing she could hear as he tried to calm himself down, the way his hands shook (he tried to hide them from her, but Bulma could almost _feel_ it happening every time he did it now).

Bulma thought it over until she could stand it no more and reached out, grabbing her teacher by the ears and _pulling_. "Tyber!" she yelled, not entirely certain what she was doing, just grabbing and pulling and shouting.

That was when Bulma discovered that the ships could _brake_ mid-space. Tyber went rigid in her hands, trembling, sparking as though he was being attacked. "Hands. Off," he grunted, resuming control of the wheel and swinging over to a medium-sized grey planet.

She released his ears anyway, scolding herself again for being stupid ( _first you talk to Raditz like you're buddies, then you touch Tyber even though that's a thing he **hates**? Nice one, genius_ ). As they entered the atmosphere of the planet, a peculiar darkness came over the ship, washing achromatic tones all over the garishly yellow interior. "Tyber?" she tried again when they landed with a soft thud. "Tyber…why did you…when you talked about how Vegeta's brother was killed…"

Why did he speak about it with such detached nastiness? That wasn't like him at all, Tyber found injustice in the powerless being murdered, that was how he was. A regular old goody-two-shoes when one got down to the bare basics of him. The ideal Patroller compared to her, someone inexperienced and…well, specific in how she carried out her version of justice.

He looked up out of the windshield for a long moment, completely silent, then turned his head to look at her over the shoulder of the seat.

"Be honest with me, Bulma. You know about Saiyan children being conditioned to act on order…where do you suppose that left me?"

Bulma raised an eyebrow at him, unsure of where he was going with that line of thought. "I know that, but, you resisted and ran away, didn't you?"

"Was a three-year-old really meant to do that, Bulma?" he laughed dryly, though his expression looked bittersweet. Tyber turned back and opened up the ship for them to leave it, unbuckling and exiting without another word. He stayed at the bottom of the steps until Bulma joined him, then turned back to her.

"What is it?" she pressed, half-wondering if what she thought he was going to say would come to be and disliking it immensely. "You're saying you were three when you ran away?"

"No. I did not leave until I was eight years old," her teacher answered, tone as colorless as the haze around them. "However, I stopped being a child when I was three."

"What are you talking about?" Bulma groaned, shaking her head at how ridiculous that idea was while her heart pounded at the seed of concern starting to sprout. "That's a long way off from—"

"Three years old was when I first participated in a purging mission." Tyber's eyes hardened, holding out his hands to her as if he expected to see them covered in blood there.

 _He probably does see it, even if I can't_ , a fearful thought occurred to her. She gaped, stammered, tried to hold back tears coming at what a horrible thing he had just revealed to her. "But that's—that's not fair—you were only a child!" Bulma cried as though it would change the conclusion.

"They were frail people," he described with a distance that spoke viewing the whole thing on television rather than having been there, expression tired and haunted. "The man who sired me—hmph—I suppose you could say he was 'upper tier' but not quite 'elite'. He had the luxury of taking his spawn along on his missions to teach them personally."

 _Spawn,_ as if they're just created for no other reason than to fill out the barracks _._ And they probably were. Did that mean to say Tyber had siblings? All now scattered or dead by the planet's destruction…did he know any of them?

He went on, his voice taking on an unnatural growling tone in apparent imitation of the man, "He told me, over and over again, fight or die. _Do it, boy, kill them—prove you're a true Saiyan._ " Tyber paused, closing his eyes, resentful tears sliding down despite her knowing he would _never_ want to show that sort of vulnerability to anyone. "Well…I suppose that day…I became a true Saiyan. That's what they do, that's all they do. They kill. Fight or die."

"But," Bulma argued, still trying to fight her own tears, going against her own emotional instincts to remain strong for him. "Did you want to?"

"No. I didn't. I didn't then, I didn't want to after. I hated everything about it. True Saiyans don't experience emotions like…like what would bring them to tears, however, especially not men."

"You weren't a man!" she shot back. "You were a _child_!"

"Suppose once you're beaten enough you forget about reminding people of that," Tyber said darkly.

"And who _cares_ if men cry, huh?!" Bulma stomped her foot, shoulders rigid and hands balled into fists. She found herself wanting to go back in time and fight Tyber's father—no, the man who sired him. Such an awful person wasn't worthy of being called a _father_. "Crying is good for you! It can really help clear your head sometimes! Holding in all that emotion is what's bad for you, and you're _full_ of emotions, Tyber!"

His head drooped to the side with an unnatural slowness, staring at her, bleak silence in contrast to her fiery fury. After watching her for a moment, he simply responded: "I'm aware, that's why I'm a misfit." He straightened himself up then, folding his arms around himself in a way that looked more like he was trying to protect himself from _something_ than look reserved.

Hell, forget just beating up Tyber's sire, she wanted to slap Tyber across the face too, so he would snap out of the funk. (It occurred to her it wouldn't have been a good idea if he were a human after learning he had been abused, but he was bothered more by being _hugged_ than being slapped, implying a whole host of other things.) "So what?! It's good that you're a misfit! If you weren't, you wouldn't be here! I wouldn't have met you!" 

A lopsided smile cracked over his face at that, he didn't look _happy_ but at the same time seemed amused. "I probably would have more peace in my life if I hadn't met you." 

"Uh! You jerk! You know life would be boring without me!" Bulma huffed, crossing her arms and turning away, forgetting that her original question had been why was Tyber so dismissive of Tarble's execution.

"I think that's true," Tyber admitted with no hint of sarcasm, his impassive mask coming back on. "Anyway," he continued with his tone turning back to the usual business, pulling out his communicator and tapping out a message on it to send off. "We're to meet your new training partner here, I need to set some boundaries between you and him."

"Hold on!" she protested, mind skipping over the _him_ part and forgoing her usual reaction of wondering if _he_ would be cute. "You didn't tell me why you were such an asshole about Tarble!"

"…Ah." His brow furrowed, lips pressing together as though he had tasted something sour. "Was I…? I suppose I laid it on too thick. Of course, I find the idea of killing someone for 'weakness' deplorable. He deserved no such thing."

Two ki signatures pinged at Bulma's senses, causing her to look up away from her teacher and out into the haze which seemed to be abruptly turning into a clearer environment. The figures coming towards them came into sight soon after, a tall boy and a much smaller one—Saiyans? Bulma felt her jaw slowly fall open as their images became sharper. The tall boy had spiky black hair to his shoulders and a placid expression on his face, the small boy's hair was similarly black and spiky but stood straight up and shorter with a single lock of hair over his forehead. However, the shape of his hair, his face (though it looked kind in demeanor), the general feel of his ki was…familiar.

_He looks like…no, that couldn't be…_

"Hello!" the small boy chirped, bowing politely. "Miss Bulma? My name is Tarble, and this is my little brother Broly, I'm pleased to meet you!"

Broly only nodded, a faint greeting of "big sister" coming from his lips.

( _Little brother?! He's six feet tall, at least!_ )

"I believe Tarble will be more suitable as a training partner to you," Tyber explained with a gentle smile. "But, please take it easy on him, he doesn't enjoy fighting all that much."

She thought she reacted quite well, overall, falling into a dead faint and having to be caught by Tyber while Tarble and Broly cried out in panic.

 

* * *

 

 

"I'm sorry, Bulma."

"This was a _fine_ time to reveal that you're into _acting_ , you monkey bastard!"

Tyber grit his teeth for a moment at the insult, considered, then evidently decided that he deserved it with a nod. Bulma, laid up on an admittedly comfortable chaise lounge (though in this case it served as an honest-to-gods _fainting couch_ ), was turned away from him and grumbling to herself angrily. The two Saiyan boys sat warily on the floor, switching between watching her and Tyber, unsure of what to make of their first impression of Bulma _collapsing_ on them as though they frightened her.

A little girl came in then with a glass of water, reddish black hair and tail obviously showing that she too was a Saiyan child. "Don't blame Dad for that, big sis," she defended her father, passing over the water lightly. "I told him he was _really_ good at deadpanning and should practice acting."

Bulma recognized her voice, it was Tyber's daughter who told her to "not chase a man unless you're going to kill him." Overall solid advice, even if she didn't want to kill anybody intentionally (yet).

"Figured I was already hiding things," Tyber added lamely. "Might as well put more effort into it."

Bulma let out a long groan, putting the cup aside and sinking down onto the couch. " _Seriously_ , how many Saiyans are you _hiding_?"

"Five, I suppose," he answered without humor as though she had expected him to answer. "Six if we count K—ah, your friend Goku."

Was _this_ the reason for all his bluster about her involvement with Vegeta? Of course, he _was_ dangerous, but Bulma felt confident she had a handle on _that_ situation. _Then again, I **am** talking to Raditz now, too._ Was he trying to keep her away from the sordid life of harboring Saiyans?!

"Bulma? Three of those are my children, though. …Bulma?"

"And you haven't told anybody?! What about _Mosto?_ " she snapped up from her position to shout. "You lied to Mosto?! And got away with it?!" 

That motion of gritting his teeth again, jaw stiff, seemed to be the go-to for Tyber that day. "He knows about Tarble, Broly, and my children, he didn't know about Kaka—I mean...oh, you know who I mean."

"But you leave _them_ off the directory—I didn't see Broly at all and Tarble is listed as dead!" Bulma shot back, ignorant of the uncomfortable looks of the youngest Saiyans in the room.

"Who else do you think has access to those files, Bulma?" Tyber asked with a chillingly calm tone.

She froze, a shiver of abject disgust running through her body. Frieza had access to their _files_ as well? What next, would he be stealing her inventions and slapping a Frieza Force sticker over them? Bulma found herself unable to answer, however, and just slid off the couch with a tired moan. Broly gently caught her and deposited the woman next to Tarble. "Thanks, big guy," she managed to sigh, running her hands through her hair.

He did not answer, only nodded with a grunt.

"I'm sorry, um…learning I'm not dead? Upsets you so much, Miss Bulma?" Tarble meekly piped up, wringing his tail between his hands as one would a handkerchief. It was such a cute, helpless image, and he sounded so _genuinely_ sorry it broke Bulma's heart. He looked uncannily like a younger, softer Vegeta—a bit more like the little boy she met—it was…strange to come to terms with.

"No!" Bulma grabbed Tarble by the shoulders and shook him insistently, much to the alarm of everyone else in the room but especially the unfortunate victim. "No, no no no, _god_ no! I'm glad you're alive! Just…just _how_?"

Tarble, looking too flummoxed to even breathe at that point, didn't explain himself; instead his "little" brother stoically lifted Bulma from her position and set her down in front of Tyber's daughter. "Please don't touch brother," he mumbled, the first full sentence he had said.

"Sorry about that," said Tyber's daughter with a smile, rubbing the back of her head. "Uncle Broly is really protective of Uncle Tarble." She then stuck out her hand before Bulma could digest the information, smile turning to a broad grin. "I'm Celrey! I'm glad I finally get to meet you, big sis!"

Bulma did not raise her hand to shake, however, but instead stared numbly at the little girl for a good few moments. Celrey was the picture of adorable innocence in her light purple-checked pinafore dress with puffed sleeves on the white blouse layer. She was paler than her father and her eyes were blue, a faint auburn sheen in her waist-length hair as opposed to his pitch black.

She was also significantly cuter and more cheerful than her father. She even had _freckles_ , it was almost nauseatingly lovable.

"Are you okay, big sis?" the girl asked, a frown coming to her face as she realized her greeting wasn't being reciprocated. "I know Dad kept putting off bringing you over here, for some reason. He's so lame, he kept telling us 'later.'"

Bulma laughed hoarsely, reaching up and gripping Celrey's hand with a softness at odds with her state of mind. "Yeah, he kept telling me that, too. He's really lame."

Tyber rolled his eyes while Celrey enthusiastically agreed about how lame her father was and helped Bulma to her feet. As expected of a Saiyan child, she was far stronger than first impression would lead one to believe. Bulma still wasn't sure what to make of everything, she turned an uncomfortable stare back to Tarble and Broly who stood to follow them. She wanted to ask so much more of them, and of her teacher, all the things he had hidden for their safety. For his own. She supposed they wouldn't have let Tyber join the Patrol if they _knew_ he had participated in purging missions, even if he was forced into doing it. She supposed they wouldn't let him join either if he…what? Found two Saiyan children and adopted them? As opposed to turning them over to the law. _But for what? Crimes they didn't have a chance to commit?_

Celrey tugged her along, chatting about introducing her to all the family—uncles, aunties, gran-gran, and so on. Before letting herself be totally led along by the girl, Bulma shot an evil look to Tyber, _we'll discuss this later_ her expression hissed. Tyber, as usual, looked unimpressed by the venom, as though she was just a child throwing a tantrum.

 _I guess I am, to him,_ she thought as Celrey pushed her through the whole line of Herans that were apparently _all_ without exception her uncles or aunties. She stopped in front of an older Heran couple, a tall and broad man with a braided beard, and a pear-shaped woman just a little shorter than Bulma with kind eyes.

"This is Grandma and Grandpa!" the child proudly introduced Bulma, gesturing at the two.

The woman smiled, dimples appearing in her cheeks as she reached out and combed her fingers through Bulma's hair. "Utoma is my name, sweetie. Tyber has told us so much about his student and how well she's doing, I'm glad I finally get to meet you."

"Mugo is mine," the man added, placing his hands on his hips with a proud expression. "My boy can be a real chatterbox sometimes, but he's strong. He's the best teacher you can get this side of the galaxy."

 _So these are his parents!_ Bulma thought with a faint blush at how loving they were, not to mention the fact that Mugo described Tyber as a _chatterbox_. She tried to imagine him excitedly chattering like a little kid while the man himself came up quickly to wave his hands and insist he certainly was _not_ the best, _or_ a chatterbox and Father please cut that out.

"Oi, oi, but isn't it _true_ , little bro?" one of the largest men in the room leaned over Tyber's shoulder and ruffled his hair. "All ya been doin' since ya started mentorin' lil Blue here is talkin' about her!" He grinned at Bulma, disregarding the Saiyan's attempts to push him off. (Meanwhile Bulma raised her eyebrows at the irony of someone that literally _was_ blue-skinned calling her "Blue" as if she was exceptional.) "Name's Kua, luv. I'm T's big bro."

He didn't even have to specify, Bulma could already tell Kua was the _largest_ Heran man of the current group. He also didn't have a shirt on, just a black embroidered vest that honestly reminded her of storybook pictures of pirates, he even had tattoos depicting bones of indeterminate aliens and facial hair almost on par with his father. Everything about how the Herans around her (and the Saiyans by inclusion) dressed reminded her of it, in fact. The house itself seemed like something out of an old pirate ship, although closer inspection showed what she thought to be wood was really a sophisticated alloy that mimicked the appearance. There was so little information about Herans she couldn't think of the reason for the aesthetic except that their planet must have had a significant seafaring culture.

Utoma gently pulled her away from the brothers' continued wrestling match (though it was possible they were playing, who knew) and gestured to the two Saiyan boys. "And you've met Tarble and Broly, I see," she giggled. "Who knows how I ended up with three Saiyan sons in addition to my Kua, but they're good boys."

Bulma nodded numbly, sufficiently overwhelmed by all of the information she was being fed at that moment. "I, uh…I'd be interested to hear about how you all…met," she ended up saying, though it was most likely the worst thing she could say at that moment.

"But you haven't met all of us yet!" Tarble piped up shyly, waving his hands in the direction of a hall with a soft glow at the end of it. "Zurui is over in the forge, um, and Namizu and Nori…?"

"I'm here, Uncle Tarble!" A little girl crawled across the floor and through the legs of the adults as if they were a living obstacle course. She stood, brushing her overalls off and grinning up at the Saiyan. Then she turned to Bulma as if she was surprised to see her there, her expression becoming wide-eyed and curious. "Big sis Bulma!"

"Wow, everyone here knows my name but I'm only just learning everyone's name," Bulma grumbled, turning a testy look to Tyber who pointedly avoided her gaze.

"My youngest daughter, Namizu," he grunted, still not looking at her.

Namizu beamed up at her cheerfully, melting away Bulma's grouchiness towards her teacher as if by magic. She looked less like a Saiyan than Celrey did, yet her skin color was still too fair to be considered fully Heran, an odd almost luminescent pale blue; the dark blue-gray eyes, short and curly black hair with a similar auburn luster to her sister's, and tail set her apart as neither Saiyan nor Heran entirely. She stuck out her hand in a similar way to the elder, wearing thick gloves as if she had been in the middle of some arduous physical task. Bulma smiled softly in return and took the little girl's hand for a quick shake.

"I've been helping Mama in the forge!" Namizu announced, using her free hand to point over her shoulder. "Nori is there, too, we can go meet them both if you wanna!"

"Sure," she replied, realizing that she was being pulled away from the group even before answering the energetic child. She still felt dazed by all the information she was being given all at once.

The forge didn't put Bulma in the mind of old fairy tales so much as an advanced metalworks laboratory that happened to have a whole lot of fire and metal. The wave of heat came first, forcing a gasp out of her and a reaction to pull back even against the (strong) grip of the tiny alien girl. Was it just a forge or was it Hades itself? Her initial fear almost made her miss the two figures busily hammering away at a sheet of metal. One of them, an older woman, paused and looked up before either of her visitors announced their coming.

"Ah." The woman pulled up her protective goggles, a wry grin in place. "He finally brought you, huh?"

 _She_ must have been Zurui, Bulma realized, Tyber's wife. Bulma was so taken aback at first to finally _meet_ her after hearing about the woman from Mosto all she could do in first reaction was stare. If asked, Bulma would contend that she personally was the most beautiful woman in the universe. The Heran women she had met threw that into (private, of course) doubt. Zurui threw her into silent awe; it wasn't as though she seemed to go out of her way to _look_ beautiful, she wasn't wearing makeup unless one counted the soot and ash. Even so, the dark orange curls pinned atop her head, the bright blue eyes crinkled with smiling, the trim and fit form patterned with old evidence of hard work transcended her to the level of some fire and forge goddess in Bulma's eyes. So, _this_ was the kind of woman a Saiyan like Tyber would fall for. Not just a Saiyan at that, a _man_ like Tyber. Damn.

 _I hope I look that good at thirty after having kids,_ a thought occurred to Bulma despite having no plans to have children in the future and thirty still being a while yet for her.

The little boy at Zurui's side pulling off his goggles with a cry of greeting broke the spell of admiration, bringing Bulma's attention to him as he gave her a gap-toothed smile. "Big sis, I'm Nori!" he spoke in a fast almost slurred tone as if speaking with words was still new to him. Nori, Bulma knew, was the youngest; unlike his sisters he looked the most like a Heran, though his skin was a slight shade darker than his mother's. His eyes, too, belonged to his father, that same deep black which would usually betray no emotion, though on the son they glimmered with excitement and innocence. His hair and tail both were a dark shade of orange, almost brown.

 _Huh._ A Saiyan child with an orange tail, good heavens. How was everyone in Tyber's family so obnoxiously cute in direct contrast to him?

"Hi, Nori," Bulma said, disregarding her analytical thoughts and pulling herself back to reality. "Namizu told me you were helping your mom, is that right?"

Now _that_ released the floodgate of excitement—Nori proceeded to point out every little project they were working on in the forge and what his involvement was, practically bouncing around the room as he did. Bulma watched him with amusement, reminded of herself as a kid getting excited over new machines she was building, taking in all the information at her own pace. Zurui sighed, shaking her head humorously and patting the younger woman casually on the shoulder.

"I'm surprised, Tyber didn't say anything about you speaking hyperactive kid," she joked with a grin.

"I'm fluent," Bulma countered. "By all accounts, he'd probably tell you I'm _still_ a hyperactive kid."

"He has, in fact."  

The two laughed as if they were old friends sharing a secret joke. Nori interrupted the moment by pouting she _wasn't looking_ so Bulma turned her attention back to the boy while Zurui fired down the forge. "Even though you're here for training, I would like it if you joined us for dinner," she said, pulling off her gloves and setting them aside. "Gran should be waking up by now, she sleeps like the dead I swear."

"But I'm _not_ dead! Stop saying that!" a creaky voice called from down the hall.

Silence followed, the three stared at each other for a moment before bursting into another fit of laughter. "Gran's got good ears!" Nori explained, tugging Bulma by the hand to lead her to wherever they were going next. "She's reeeeeeally old, so she says that means her ears are extra strong and mature!"

It was usually the opposite for the elderly on Earth she wanted to say, then again her parents remained _quite_ healthy and whole despite being well into their fifties. It was just one of those mysteries of the universe, she supposed. Bulma let herself be led along by the boy, soon joined by his sisters fighting over who would take her other hand; Celrey insisted she was the oldest so she had the rights, Namizu contented herself with holding Celrey's hand instead. It amazed her, for all of how cynical Tyber happened to be his family was something else entirely, they were so friendly and open—they were calling her _big sister_ even without knowing her. It seemed Herans had a strong love of family bonds and were generally open and loving, or perhaps these Herans in particular were.

Tyber was helping an old woman out of a room and down the hall, she noticed, while Tarble and Broly waited patiently at the end for whatever—orders probably, since of course Tyber was a natural drill sergeant. Bulma blinked at the old woman, realizing then that she was regarding her with an uncanny expression of familiarity. 

"My, such a lovely young lady," the apparent matriarch of the Heran family crooned. "Tyber didn't mention any of that when he talked about you."

"Gran, why would I?" Tyber asked, looking vaguely horrified at the very idea. "That's totally irrelevant." To Bulma, he added: "This is Yaba, our grandmother."

"Oh, you Saiyans!" Yaba chuckled. "You're all as dense as carbon!" She waved him off, insisting she could walk on her own to what constituted as the general living area. 

Though Bulma and Zurui giggled at Tyber's misfortune, he remained very much confused about what Yaba even meant. _Poor guy,_ Bulma thought while shaking her head. "Let me guess," she added to Zurui in low tones. " _You_ made all the first moves." 

"Yep," Zurui answered with no hesitation. "He was always shy, and oblivious to boot. Someone like him I had to get up in his face and say, 'hey I think you're cute.' Buuuuut even then, he asked why that was something I said out of nowhere."

Tyber responded to the conversation he could clearly hear by blushing all the way down to his neck and making his escape to another part of the house. He muttered something about getting dinner started, but it did nothing to abate the hail of laughter that followed. Bulma knew she was probably going to pay for making fun of him and gossiping with his wife once they got back to HQ, yet for the moment she was going to enjoy her time with the family.

Dinner was an energetic affair with several voices and questions going at once; the kids asking about her work as a technician, Kua asking about what sorts of criminals she's apprehended ("I said that I wanted to be a Patroller, too, and T said they don't let in drunkards!" followed by Tyber smashing a spiced vegetable of some kind in his mouth to shut him up), and still more. It must have been what having a big family was like, Bulma decided, as when she thought about it dinners with her family were either very quiet or didn't happen at all, just solitude in the lab over a cup of ramen. The only one who didn't talk during the meal at all was Broly, who merely observed and listened while casting a worried glance to Tarble occasionally. Celrey had said the large Saiyan was very protective of Tarble, and Bulma wouldn't begrudge him that; she suspected the fact that the second prince was marked for execution ( _or whatever_ ) was a large part of it. Did that make him the bodyguard back on planet Vegeta? She mulled over how exactly she could broach the topics with the two as she munched on her food without upsetting them terribly. They seemed like sensitive types, like Tyber, so approaching them would need careful consideration.

She wondered if Goku would have ended up living with the Herans as well if he had proven to be a threat to Earth. It was good that he didn't, otherwise she wouldn't have met him, and she might not have survived her journey to find the Dragon Balls.

Bulma turned her eyes to Tarble as she considered what to say and the implications of all she was learning. Just by looking at him she could believe that he was Vegeta's brother, however seeing how he acted threw that into doubt; he seemed to be a gentle and considerate type of boy, eager to please and wanting to keep the peace. Saiyans must have not wanted that sort of thing in their royalty, even if by birth order Tarble wouldn't have been the next successor for king. He certainly wasn't her image of a prince, either, though not in the same way his brother wasn't. Tarble had a noble and kind demeanor about him regardless of any other lacking traits in the "dashing prince" category. She wondered how he and Vegeta got along, if there had been any fight to protect him from his cruel fate, if the elder still thought about his "deceased" brother. Come to think of it, how did Tarble even get away if he was meant to die? Who—? 

"Miss Bulma?"

She snapped out of her reverie, realizing she had been watching Tarble with her chin resting in her hand for a good couple of minutes while everyone around her started to clean up their plates. Bulma blinked, trying to come to terms with the fact that Tarble was now staring right back at her looking slightly concerned. "Uh…can we…find some place to talk?" she found herself stammering, casting a look to Broly. "Alone." 

Broly tilted his head at her like a confused dog, having clearly heard everything she just said. He didn't seem to regard her as a threat, however, since he just shrugged and took away his own plate. _At least he knows when to relax on the bodyguard thing._

"…All right, then," Tarble said hesitantly, standing and gesturing for her to follow him. 

He was so small compared to her, at least a full head shorter. What exactly was the age difference between him and Vegeta? It couldn't have been less than a couple of years apart. So, was he a baby when he was sent off? She thought about the mystery that was the boy leading her out to what looked like a backyard, or at least a deck that looked out over a stretch of land below and sky above. When Bulma turned her eyes to the sky, she noticed a moon hanging above the horizon, a bright red light shining over—a planet, if she was guessing correctly. It looked like a grinning cyclops with how the moon was situated with its crescent on its "back." Tarble was watching not the moon, but the planet above it with an odd sort of wistful expression.

"That's planet Vegeta there," he explained, leaning on the railing of the deck, tail swaying from side to side as a breeze passed over them. "Tyber told me that the light from the planet will remain in the sky here for thousands of years before it finally fades out." 

 _Do you miss it?_ Bulma somehow managed to keep herself from blurting that foolish thought out, instead leaning on the rail alongside him, casting her eyes from the light of the planet, to the moon, and back to Tarble. "He told me this place is invisible to anyone allied with Frieza," she began, carefully trying to figure out what to say next. "Yaba's guardianship over this planet has made it an official haven for anyone whose lives were wrecked by him. Does that…?"

"Include me?" he finished for her with a self-conscious smile. "Yes and no, Miss Bulma. I'm sure the Herans never _intended_ to harbor Saiyans at all, let alone a disgraced royal, but…if Tyber hadn't found me, I'm not sure what would have happened." His expression fell into somber silence, looking away from her to the ground. "As for…the circumstances behind me leaving the planet…they had been trying to figure out what to do with me for a while, the weak prince who balked at fighting. It was…it was Frieza who decided I needed to be executed."

Bulma's mouth fell open in shock, staring at the boy with horror and dismay. _Frieza did it,_ the constant refrain in her mind hissed as it had been for months since learning of the horrible creature. _Frieza_ demanded the blood of the kind and meek boy in front of her, and his parents—if he had both of them?—had no choice but to obey. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his shoulder, startling Tarble who stared up at her in dazed surprise. "You don't have to tell me this if you don't want to," she asserted, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "If it hurts too much, we can leave it. It won't affect training together."

"No, I…I don't want to be keeping secrets from you," he insisted, shaking his head. "My mother, the Queen, begged my father to not obey Frieza on this. She begged for my life. They fought constantly, I remember. Mother was always crying…"

"…And Prince Vegeta?" she found herself asking, causing Tarble to raise his eyebrows.

"You know Brother?" he whispered as if they were at risk of being overheard.

Bulma half-smiled in return, shrugging. "It's a long story," she muttered back. "I'm surprised Tyber didn't tell you."

Tarble seemed to decide he wouldn't push the topic, breathing out a small sigh. "Brother…he doesn't—or, didn't often show his emotions. I don't think he understood what exactly was going on. He was…five, if I'm measuring Standard correctly, I was three."

Sometime before _they_ had met, then. Not that he needed to know.

A sad, nostalgic air came over them as Tarble looked back at the light of the planet. "I don't think he disliked me. Vegeta always made sure I wasn't being picked on."

(Bulma suppressed the disbelieving snort at the image of Vegeta playing the role of the protective older brother.)

"…But he didn't know Father had me sent away. Far away, where Frieza would never know that I was still alive." He squinted, eyebrows drawn together as if to keep himself from crying as he gazed upon the echoed image of his dead planet. "It's hard to remember, the next thing I knew…I had been picked up by Tyber and Kua. I suppose I was lucky I landed on a planet where Heran nomads lived before they settled at Vanishing Point."

He supposed? Bulma would think he was _very_ lucky for that. She frowned at him, reaching out and pulling him into a hug. "I'm glad he found you," she mumbled into his shock of hair. "You couldn't have been discovered by a better alien."

By all accounts without knowing his birthdate Tarble must have been about 17, so while it would have been _very_ strange to be hugging a boy not so much younger than her usually, something moved her to do it. (Besides, it was to comfort him, not for anything untoward.) Tarble didn't protest, at least, going rigid for a moment before relaxing. "…I'm sorry if this sounds weird, Miss Bulma," he said timidly, voice muffled by her embrace. "This reminds me of Mother."

 _Eh, not so bad to be reminded of a guy's mom in this case,_ she mentally conceded. "How about you stop being formal and call me big sis instead?" Bulma teased, fluffing up his hair with her fingers.

A laugh came, choked with a quiet sob, and Tarble nodded.

 _Poor kid._ At least he had Tyber to look out for him, and Broly as well. And as far as Bulma was concerned, he had her now too.

Perhaps she would leave off the part where she was in some bizarre game that might or might not have ended in death with his older brother that he _seemed_ to be fond of (even though he probably shouldn't be) too. For the moment.

For a long moment.

Maybe after a couple of training sessions Tarble would forget she knew Vegeta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I still can't believe people are actually reading this thing. Thank you?? So much. Whew, lads. As usual you can find notes and doodles I've done over on this tumblr yonder: https://missportugal96.tumblr.com/ in case you're inclined.


	12. Strange Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma gets to know Tarble and Broly, she then gets to catch up with an old friend. Raditz tries to talk to a girl. It goes about as well as one could expect. Vegeta and Bulma get some time alone. That also goes about as well as one would expect.

All too quickly and all too slowly, March overcame Bulma and by extension the ragtag family on Vanishing Point. Staying with the Herans was surprisingly comfortable as they went almost far too out of their way (even for her, _Bulma fucking Briefs_ as she would call herself) to make sure she wanted for nothing. By the sixteenth, when she called Yamcha to wish him happy birthday, he had some more unexpected insight for her.

"Have you been under a lot of stress lately, Bulma?" he asked after reassuring Puar for the fifth time that he would tell Bulma the little cat said hi. "You said your teacher has a couple of kids and a bunch of siblings, right? Maybe he got worried and wants to take care of you." After a pause where he likely scratched his chin in thought, he added: "Just, you know. Without making a big deal about it and having other people that could help. You said also Tyber's kinda awkward, right?"

"Super awkward, I don't think he's ever given himself a moment to come to terms with the whole _caring_ about people thing his whole life." Bulma recalled fondly then how her teacher mumbled and shuffled around asking if she wanted to say over after work.

_"I won't force you to make a decision, but…Vanishing Point is closer to HQ than Earth is, so…if you wanted a place to rest and where there'll be company **besides** our coworkers in the morning…"_

Naturally Bulma said yes to that, then stood as high on her tiptoes as she could to ruffle his hair, much to his annoyance.

"It sounds like you've been adopted, Bulma," Yamcha joked. "I think he's a guy that really wants to help people."

"You mean he's a softie," Bulma joked back. She knew already that Tyber worried about her quite a bit, her emotional side argued he didn't need to while her intellectual side acknowledged he did. Both he and Mosto, except after some time of getting to know her Mosto gained the confidence to know that with gentle guidance she wouldn't self-destruct. It was evident Saiyans weren't as adept with intuition as Namekians happened to be, Tyber only had his emotions and experience. It was the drawback of being a primate humanoid alien; humans and Saiyans seemed to value social bonds albeit with the latter being less positive and more aggressive naturally. It was all quite interesting to her scientific mind.

"Well sure, but there's nothin' wrong with that!" Yamcha held the phone away for a moment, talking to someone in the background insistently. "Okay, okay!" he sighed and put the phone back, "Puar says hi, Bulma."

She giggled, raising her voice to be heard over the line: "Hi, Puar! I miss you guys!"

"We miss you too, Bulma!" Puar squeaked back.

Oddly, despite her concern from last year, she believed him. Something about being in space and having all of the galaxy's problems set down upon one's shoulders left little time for mulling over insecurities about being forgotten and alone.

Yamcha, it seemed, was more aware of the galaxy's problems and how they affected Bulma than she realized as he spoke up: "Bulma? _Are_ you under stress?"

Her period of silence after the question more than likely did nothing to assuage his concerns. He pressed again: "Bulma, what's going on?"

 _Ugh_. He wasn't going to let up, Bulma realized with a long sigh. "There's a lot of shit out there in the galaxy, Yamcha," she answered. "A lot of it has been going on right above our heads for centuries, at that."

It wasn't a very clear picture, and Yamcha's discontented hum showed he didn't approve of how vague she was being, but it would have to do. "You can handle it," he eventually said with an earnest tone. "Just…be careful, okay? I—I mean, we all want you to be with us at the tournament."

Things were being left unsaid, things Yamcha possibly couldn't put into words. Bulma wouldn't press, however, and just let him go. If she ignored it, surely it wouldn't end up being anything serious. If Bulma wanted to consider it, she would think that perhaps he was having regrets about their breakup.

But she didn't.

She wouldn't.

She would rationalize it away and go back to work, push out everything but business as usual. She had other things to do besides reflect on Earthly issues (especially not _relationships_ , how about no thank you?), like her new friends at Vanishing Point and especially her shy but enthusiastic training partner.

To her surprise, Bulma found that Tarble was a skilled fighter despite apparently not enjoying it. Tarble not enjoying it seemed to be inaccurate, as well, it might have been just that he disliked the implication of fighting being a means to dominate and destroy for Saiyans. If he was only sparring or showing someone else a technique, he appeared to be having a lot of fun. Further surprising Bulma, Tarble was _stronger_ than her even if it wasn't as big of a gap as between herself and Tyber. Then again, it made sense; Tarble had trained his whole life while Bulma only started last year. Either way he was very considerate and gentle in his treatment of her, far away from Tyber's derision and tough love.

"You know, Tarble, you could be a really good teacher," Bulma commented at the beginning of their second week of training. He was turned away from her sat on the floor in a nest of athletic tape as he wrapped his wrists and knuckles similar to how boxers would. She noticed he maneuvered his tail around to help with wrapping just to be sure it stayed steady; despite her admiration of his level of concentration and care, it unfortunately left him unaware of someone speaking to him. Bulma frowned upon realizing she was being paid no heed, tightening the straps on her weighted gloves as she raised her voice, "Tarble!"

His tail bristled, head snapping up immediately with a wide-eyed expression of surprise. Poor thing looked like he was under attack until he realized it was Bulma trying to get his attention. "Oh, um…" Tarble laughed nervously. "I'm sorry, Bulma, what was that?"

"I said you could be a really good teacher," she repeated patiently. "Heck, you could even join the Patrol."

Tarble didn't respond right away, instead a thin smile came to his face expressing nothing but wistful hopes and pain rather than joy buried beneath a long-standing facade. "I've…thought that I want to join the Patrol, yes. Broly's even said he would join with me. But I…can't."

 _…Oh._ An involuntary shudder ran through her. Of course, of course Tarble couldn't join the Patrol—Tarble couldn't even leave the planet. For all intents and purposes, he was dead and Broly didn't even exist. They lived a life of solitude and secrecy.

Not for the first time, Bulma resented that Frieza had such a stranglehold on the freedom of everyone in the universe. She opened her mouth to apologize, cut off by a head shake from Tarble. "Don't worry about it, Sister." He gave her another self-conscious grin, rubbing the back of his head.

Don't worry about it. He was telling _her_ not to worry; he was reassuring _her_ as if she deserved it and didn't pour salt into the wound. Clearly it was time to change the subject before things could get more awkward and guilty, Bulma stammered out a question about Broly not entirely sure what she was asking.

Apparently it was something about his identity since Tarble tilted his head at her. "What do you mean? Broly is Broly."

They stared at each other for a long moment, a tense silence the only thing between them. "I mean…how did you meet him?"

The large Saiyan spoke very little even through Bulma's stay at Vanishing Point. He watched everything around him with a somber gaze, posture and appearance consistently closed off. His manner of dress was layered even to the point where his tail remained out of sight most of the time. Despite his apparent mature and _huge_ stature, Broly was only about fifteen years old, the same age as Goku though any mention of his Saiyan name to him drew a confused look.

Presently while Tarble continued wrapping his knuckles and wrists, Broly was situated across the room having his hair braided by Celrey and Namizu. He sat still as a statue, placidly passing up the ties as the girls asked for them.

"Well, ah…" Tarble glanced over to them and then back to Bulma. "Not long after Tyber found me, Papa—um, Mugo found a pod on the planet Kua had chosen to set up his…establishment on."

"You can call it a bar, it's okay," Bulma interrupted, causing his cheeks to color.

"Tyber says I'm not old enough to start getting bad habits," he mumbled.

Bulma had no idea how simply _talking_ about the existence of a bar would create bad habits, but then again with how weird Tyber was some of the weirdness likely rubbed off on Tarble as well.

"Anyway, Broly was in that pod," Tarble finished, waving his hand. "Tyber knows more about it."

"And he hasn't told you? Offff course." She rolled her eyes, dissatisfied and very much suspicious of what information was being hidden about him. Her damnable curious mind was active as always, Bulma quickly cut it off before she could get lost in her own thoughts: "Why doesn't Broly spar with us, then?"

He didn't answer for a while, glancing from Broly to Bulma with unease. More secrets, she would assume, it appeared that the Saiyans of Vanishing Point had a lot to hide or things that couldn't be explained. "He…he's strong. Broly is very strong. It's difficult for him to control his strength, so, um…" His eyes remained on Broly, concern written all over his being. "Mr. Mosto has been coming by for a while now to teach him meditation and control."

"Does he get violent? Does he have a temper?"

"No, not a temper." He shook his head, turning his gaze back to Bulma to offer her a weak smile. "How destructive he can be is no different from any other Saiyan's natural tendencies, I suppose."

She mulled it over as she watched the huge Saiyan lean forward obligingly so Namizu could straighten out the ribbon she used. He didn't have a temper, but still had the Saiyan tendencies towards violence in addition to an immeasurable amount of strength. He was learning meditation and control from Mosto. All of those things made sense in her mind, really it was a very constructive way to deal with one's own turbulent mind, just the same she worried it was more than Tarble said. "He doesn't repress his emotions, does he? That's not a healthy thing to do."

"Oh, no!" Tarble blinked at her owlishly like she said something far out of left field. "Why would he? Mum—I mean Utoma always told us the same as you, it's not healthy."

"Then why does he…?"

"He's just shy," he interrupted with a shrug.

 _Hm._ Somehow Bulma didn't feel like she got many answers about Broly (certainly not enough to satisfy her curious mind, of course). Moreover, something about Tarble dismissively saying Broly was just _shy_ didn't sit right with her. He couldn't possibly be intimidated by little old her, could he? Though she _was_ probably the most beautiful woman he had seen outside of family in a while, there was no need to hide anything from her.

Her intellectual side cynically groaned that everyone would hide things from her anyway, no matter how beautiful she was. Keeping secrets and shielding her from the real pain experienced by her alien companions was apparently the name of the game that side of the galaxy no matter how much she despised that particular truth.

It took another week for Broly to actually speak to Bulma for much longer than clipped words and gestures. By that time Tarble had volunteered his scouter for modifications, though it was an older model and had been shut off for years it didn't take her much time to figure it out; at the same time, she cautioned Tarble to stay away while she was working on it lest his voice be overheard until she could remove the trackers. As she busied herself in between training and socializing with her experiments, Broly would come to bring food and sit with her while she worked. He seemed to only want to watch and listen while she made small talk, explained what she was doing. She let him stay since, of course, he was quiet and nobody who would be able to hear over the scouter would know anybody named "Broly." (She usually called him "big guy" anyway.)

"It doesn't scare you that they hear what you're doing?" Broly asked on the third day.

Bulma, not expecting him to ask a question, jerked in surprise, head snapping back to look at him. "What?" She needed a moment to figure out what his question meant before shaking her head. "Well, they can't _anymore_ , but before that no, I don't care that they can hear me."

"I didn't think you cared," Broly's tone lightly pressed into insistence as he frowned. "I said _scared_ , big sister."

"Nah," Bulma snorted with a grin. "I've had worse than Frieza. It's not like I'm going around insulting his mother."

Broly's expression spoke waves of reservation (in addition to confusion at the idea of Frieza having a mother), prompting her to sigh and fully turn to face him. "Really, I haven't done anything to offend him, I'm safe." She wanted to tell him not to be concerned, but she wasn't sure if he even _was_ or just being a nag similar to Tyber.

His frown deepened, eyes casting down to his hands in his lap, tail swishing back and forth. "If…if something—if someone…" he mumbled, fidgeting with understated insecurity. "If you're ever in trouble…I'll protect you."

That explained it; he was fretting over her well-being. It was quite sweet of him, and Bulma showed him as much with a gentle smile. "Thanks, big guy, but…" Her expression dropped immediately as she spoke the agonizing reality: "You can't leave the planet, can you? Just like Tarble can't."

"…No, I can't," he sighed, a heavy burden of sadness and secrecy weighing his shoulders down into a boneless slump. "For my safety…but…" Broly cut himself off, chewing his lip, trying to find the words to express what he wanted to share. "…I worry so much about everyone when they're gone. Master Mosto told me worrying about people you care for is normal, sometimes it just…"

"Hurts, huh?" Bulma supplied, standing up to come to his side. She hesitated before sitting down and placing a hand on his shoulder. "You care for me, Broly?"

His eyes flicked to her hand, then to her face, expression reading as confusion at why in the universe she would touch or question him. "Hurts," he agreed with a solemn nod. "You're family, of course I care."

"Hurting just means you've got feelings, big guy," she said meaningfully, squeezing his shoulder with a delicate touch that really someone as strong as him didn't need. "But your family is all a bunch of tough people—Tarble tells me you're powerful, but so are we, right?"

He nodded again, discomfort and helplessness writ large all over his expression. "I just…feel useless. And because I feel useless, I get angry and start…"

"Blowing up?" Bulma finished for him. Broly silently assented and she sighed. "But you're not useless, Broly, nobody here would say that."

"That's right, Uncle Broly!" a high-pitched voice squeaked out from beyond the door. "You gotta believe in yourself!"

The two turned to the door, and then glanced at each other with mirrored flat expressions. "Nori," Broly deadpanned. "It's impolite to listen in on others' conversations."

He didn't say it, but Bulma could feel the vibe of him wanting to express something else, something like _that's not the problem! The problem is being calm when I should be_. Poor boy, it was clear he already worried deeply about the idea of settling the torrid feelings in his mind. A kid his age should have been thinking about—well, things teenagers thought about! But no, it wasn't like that for Broly or Tarble, and it wouldn't be.

It couldn't be.

 _These guys need more friends besides little kids and family,_ she mused as not only Nori but Namizu, Celrey, and Tarble piled into the room. Tarble was sheepishly saying something about the kids becoming restless and bored with storybooks and whatever was on the viewing screen. The adults had all left for work, leaving the teens and kids home with just Yaba meditating in her chambers (she was possibly sleeping, though with how much power she exercised to keep the planet from prying eyes Bulma could hardly blame her). The kids were tired of running laps around the planet or sparring or bugging Tarble for stories, apparently it was her and Broly's turn to ease off the babysitting job.

The Saiyan formerly known as a prince said as much when he innocently (Bulma mentally put heavy quotation marks on that) tilted his head at her and asked, "Bulma? You said you knew my older brother." Upon realizing everyone in the room was staring at him in a way that would show question marks floating over their heads if they were in a comic book, he clarified: "Vegeta."

Celrey reacted first, standing up and shouting something about _that slimy no-good creep_ while Broly straightened up, staring at Tarble like he had lost his mind. Bulma, Namizu, and Nori were all left in the dark about why there were such strong reactions.

Then it hit Bulma: Vegeta had _threatened_ Tyber, of course Celrey would be defensive of her father. Broly, though knowing Vegeta had nothing to do directly with Tarble's unfortunate fate, had no reason to regard him with anything but suspicion—after all, Vegeta was a mass-murdering madman. The only thing she didn't understand was the young Saiyan staring at her expectantly, coolly, an edge of cunning there that quite scarily reminded her of the bastard prince himself.

 _You clever little **shit**_ , Bulma thought rather than said, narrowing her eyes at him to show exactly what she was thinking. There was no way she could blow it off and refuse in front of everyone else to explain the context behind Tarble's statement; she very well couldn't say that he was _lying_ , either, nobody would believe him to be a liar. "All right, kids," she said, holding back the irritated lip curl at being trapped into the most warped story time of her life. "Let me tell you about how a prodigy child defeated two ugly mean aliens that came to her planet."

They instantly gathered in a circle around her, eagerly waiting for the story to continue. Despite being coerced into telling, Bulma's exasperation melted into amusement as she looked over the group. Celrey wore an expression of expecting bloodshed, as a Saiyan child would; Nori and Namizu looked interested in the promise of some great invention toppling an unstoppable force. Broly seemed concerned, but that was his default look.

"Once upon a time—" (Namizu immediately perked up, she loved any story that involved "upon a time"s) "—There was a brilliant little girl that invented _many_ things…but before the little girl came her sister."

Though Jaco's take on the story was biased, Bulma recalled what he told her nonetheless as she weaved the tale of the intrepid young author meeting an alien; it served as a convenient jump-off for introducing how she came in. The kids nodded in understanding when she reached the end of the "Galactic Patroller Taco" segment.

"But, the girl would encounter aliens again!" she affected a dramatic tone, sweeping her hands up. "With the memory of being offered the position of a protector in mind—" (That wasn't entirely true, Bulma simply wanted to protect Earth of her own volition at the time) "—She boldly stood up to the next invaders! Two little boys, not much older than either of you," Bulma gestured at Namizu and Nori, who lit up in excitement. "They were quite unusual to the girl, she thought—they wore strange armor, and had _tails_."

(Every Saiyan in the room automatically grabbed their tail in between nervous hands.)

"Raditz was the name of one; he was looking for his brother. The other…was the mean and terrible Prince Vegeta!"

The kids gasped; Celrey and Nori balled up their fists, though Namizu…gave a starry-eyed look as if she was listening to a romantic fairy tale.

( _Please, oh god, please don't read too much into that, Nami,_ Bulma thought for a brief and frightened moment.)

"The girl said, 'leave now, alien scum!' and pointed her gun at them!" Bulma grinned, casting a glance to Tarble who had raised his eyebrows at the introduction of the idea of _shooting_ at his brother. Broly had busied himself with pressing his hands down on the kids so they wouldn't start hollering in the middle of Bulma's story, expression moving from concerned to a little confused. "Raditz made a _big_ mistake then…he patted the girl on the head and told her to run along and play somewhere else. She shot him right in the face!"

Even Broly couldn't stop the cheers and shouts of three rambunctious children at that. Bulma giggled at their reaction and finished the tale of her meeting with Vegeta running away, which caused Tarble to slap his hand to his mouth in surprise.

"Brother…ran?" he stammered, heedless of the kids crowding around Bulma demanding another story from her. "But he…oh my goodness."

"Yeah, he's a little mad at me for that." She off-handedly shrugged, deciding on which story to tell the kids next. "I think, anyway, guy's hard to read."

Tarble paled, Broly looked between her and him with an alarmed face.

Bulma only shrugged again and proceeded to tell the kids about her adventures with Goku.

 

* * *

 

"My brother wouldn't run away," Tarble said to her as the month rolled over into April.

"Oh yeah?" Bulma replied only half-listening as she worked on the connections in her modified scouter. It had taken longer than expected to engineer the parts properly in order to replace the screen (she wanted a better color than the default green and chose a regal purple), but by the time she had Bulma knew the scouter inside and out. It took little effort to modify the connections and functions, making the device hardier than others by virtue of being able to detect degrees of power beyond Frieza's level (though heaven forbid something like that should exist, it was a difficult feature to even include at all) and switch off from detecting power. An encyclopedia of species types had been uploaded as well into the database to help with identifying more efficiently in addition to the option to actively call and create different communication channels. The most ingenious feature, the one she was proudest of, was a button to jam the signal of any Frieza Force-issued scouters to avoid detection by enemies and disrupt their own communications. It was a brilliant piece of work, possibly Bulma's finest yet, there was no way she would share all of what she did with Frieza.

Currently she was using it to contact Kame House on Earth as Tarble watched her. As much as Bulma enjoyed the company of the Heran women (they had a lot to say about aspects of life she hadn't been able to experience yet and amused commentary about her failed relationship) she missed Launch terribly. Perhaps if Tyber wasn't against it, Bulma could bring Launch to Vanishing Point for her own vacation?

"Bulma? I said he wouldn't run away," Tarble's voice came back to remind her he was there. "My brother isn't a coward."

"I don't think he's a coward," Bulma responded, lifting her goggles up and turning to look at him with bemusement. "He was a kid and I blew up Raditz, I don't blame him for running off at all."

No, if anything Vegeta was the opposite of that little boy now; a tenacious pain in the ass with a shrewd mind. Apparently it was a royal family thing as Tarble too showed that amount of shrewdness, even if he wouldn't use his calculating mind to hurt people or enact vengeance.

He seemed perfectly aware of what his brother _did_ use his intelligence for as he frowned helplessly at her, visibly trying to keep himself from letting his nostalgia taint the present. "I know he…I know he does bad things," he said softly. "But I—I don't think Vegeta's a bad person."

At her disbelieving scowl he stuttered, "It's—it's just, he has nothing to _lose_ , you know? He doesn't have anything but working for Frieza, and if he were to _quit_ working for Frieza…"

"He would die," Bulma finished for him with the matter of fact tone that was usually reserved for discussing anything but universal tyrants. "Well yeah, I know that, anything he ever had was taken away. His home, his people," she nodded at Tarble, "You."

"Me," he agreed meekly. "…But not you."

"Me?" she echoed back, staring at the boy as if he had suddenly grown a second tail. "I'm not a…uh."

A thing Vegeta _has_ , she wanted to say, she wasn't a possession, and she wasn't someone who had any kind of obligation to him aside from the "game" she agreed to. That didn't mean Bulma belonged to him or vice versa.

"I didn't say you _belonged_ to him," Tarble sighed, astutely reading her expression. "Tyber has data files from planet Vegeta; I read them all the time when I was younger." He shrugged, staring down at his hands clasped together. "Legends say that when one Saiyan defeats another, the bond that's forged is unbreakable."

All at once, Bulma dropped the scouter, recalling how Tyber gaped at her in fear upon hearing how she "defeated" the two Saiyans. It occurred to her the legend might have been in his mind, though his insistence that Vegeta would kill her in answer to the defeat didn't speak considering some old legend about bonds. He couldn't have been thinking of that. "Tarble, no offense," she responded on impulse, "There's no such thing as unbreakable destined bonds or whatever. That's a whole load of shit."

As if. She was just magically bonded to some foreign prince when she was a child? And now he was back to confirm the bond; sweep her off her feet so they could live happily ever after?

No, he was going to kill her after some extended sadistic mind games unless Bulma outsmarted him. Fuck that entire _he's not that bad_ pandering and damn her attraction to bad boys for not entirely _minding_ him being as depraved as rumored.

"He might _think_ he wants to kill you," Tarble insisted. "But he won't, and he wouldn't let anyone else hurt you either."

"All right, Tarble," Bulma groaned, rubbing her temples. "First of all, I'm not even a Saiyan, so that doesn't count." She stooped to retrieve the scouter, going back to finding the signal she wanted as she spoke, "He might not want to kill me so _soon_. Vegeta wants to play a game, but I'm pretty sure the only end he wants is me on my knees begging for mercy."

Fuck that, too. Bulma wasn't going to beg anybody for anything.

"You're close enough to a Saiyan," he argued, crossing his arms and furrowing his eyebrows at her. "You act more like one than I do, you know that? If it weren't for your coloring and lacking a tail, nobody would realize."

"And what, he's secretly protecting me or some crap like that?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Shut up a second, would you? I'm calling a friend of mine."

 _Protecting me, yeah right._ Maybe a couple of years ago Bulma would have been flattered by the idea of some mysterious dark prince being a secret protector, thinking of her fondly, perhaps even wishing to claim her for his own. _The hell with that._ Things like that didn't happen. Moreover, she wasn't a _possession_ or a prize to be claimed, she was _Bulma fucking Briefs._

Tarble quieted down, as asked, but he stared at her in sullen silence with his tail swinging back and forth while she caught up with Launch. He looked even more alarmingly like Vegeta when he was pouting.

 

* * *

 

Dreams didn't usually plague Vegeta when he was in suspended animation; if they did they were nightmares. It seemed his mind decided to "bless" him with the usual again, a vivid memory of his mother screaming in grief at his father for being a coward and abandoning his son. He remembered witnessing this argument; it was the evening his brother was executed. The piercing noise of his mother's crying shocked him then and haunted him after, the discordant torment of a woman in pain as if her very heart was being carved into while she was cruelly kept alive. He despised that sound so much more than anything else he had heard in his life, not that he would tell anyone that. Any female he encountered he killed quickly so he _wouldn't_ have to hear it, any other one of Frieza's men he saw acting disgracefully and tormenting a woman he killed as well.

(Just to avoid that godawful sound, he would tell himself. Though contradictorily he made it no secret he loathed the hedonistic bastards that used purging as an excuse that way.)

His mother was cradling him in her lap, sobbing though trying to quiet the noise so her son wouldn't see her in an act of weakness. It did disturb him profoundly to see his own mother, the Queen of Saiyans, a resilient warrior in her own right expressing her anguish so openly. How long had it been…? That was the last time anyone had ever touched him in a comforting manner, or sought comfort from him with gentle touch.

(He despised physical contact. He really did.)

Static ripped apart the memory and Vegeta was alone in darkness again, voices echoing at him with indiscernible noise. Eventually, only one word came through: _"Tar…le…"_

Again, distant, clouded by white noise: _"…load of shit."_

He supposed someone was talking over a scouter, yet he couldn't rouse himself from his sleep enough to shut off the damn thing and instead dozed.

 _"All right, Tarble,"_ the voice came clearer.

_Her._

Her. And…Tarble? He was having a nightmare indeed, Tarble was dead. He had pushed out all memories of the weakling, disregarded that his mother mourned so heavily before she met her own end.

Disregarded his own grief.

No, he didn't feel anything towards Tarble. Tarble was weak and he died for that, as any Saiyan would for being unforgivably _pathetic_.

Vegeta's eyes cracked open slightly, nothing but the void of space greeting him from the window of his pod. His scouter was silent.

 _Only a dream._ How stupid, waking up from dreams and feeling _anything_ from it was for children.

 _"Premature awakening detected,"_ droned the pod system. _"Initiating suspended animation."_

He always hated the part where the vapor would get blown in his face to force him to sleep.

At least he didn't dream about his mother crying again.

Unfortunately his nightmares showed Frieza slowly throttling Tarble while he stood upon Vegeta's back to immobilize him instead. In the distance, he heard a woman scream.

It wasn't his mother.

 

* * *

 

Though Launch was hesitant at first about leaving Kame House ("who would cook for everyone?" to which Bulma assured her the boys could take care of themselves) and Tyber was a little perturbed about being used as a shuttle, by the third week of April she (in her sweet form) had arrived. Mosto had started to come daily as well to give Broly his meditation lessons, to which Launch was taken aback to see a man that was _green_. He was similarly surprised to meet a human that had two personalities.

"H-how did he know that?" she had stuttered to Bulma.

"Oh, he can read minds, sorta," Bulma responded with a shrug.

"In that case…to him I have two minds?" Launch tilted her head in confusion, already seeming to be overwhelmed by the sheer amount of alien information she was being inundated with.

Mosto called out from the room, "No, not at all. I only sense a mind that hides aspects of itself."

Launch didn't look any less confused, though Bulma did quietly note down that her repression theory seemed to be alive and well.

 _Ah, never mind!_ She didn't bring her friend to start on the old "let's poke at Launch's fractured personalities" nonsense! She tugged Launch along to introduce her to everyone, chattering that they could do a galactic shopping spree once she's settled in and they've caught up.

Once Launch borrowed some Heran clothes from one of Zurui's sisters and unintentionally introduced everyone to her blonde form, she started to relax and ask more questions (to write down in her journal, of course).

"So Kua there runs a bar," she said to Bulma with a mischievous grin. "Hey, Bulma, we should pay a visit, whaddya think?"

"No!" Tyber poked his head out of the kitchen to yell, looking quite alarmed by the idea.

"Hey, old man, you're not our dad!" Launch griped back. "We're two responsible adult ladies; we can go out and have some fun, can't we?"

"Bulma's eighteen," he flatly grunted before being pulled back into the kitchen by Zurui with hushed tones spoken in Heran. After a moment, he called out: "Fine, but not without an escort!"

"S'up with that guy?" she grumbled to Bulma. "He thinks we can't take care of ourselves?"

"It's not that," Bulma defended him, though Launch's eyebrows shot right up into her hairline at the uncharacteristic reaction. "He worries, and there _are_ pretty dangerous things out there. He'd be like that if we were boys, too."

Apparently Tyber could still hear them (damn that Saiyan hearing) as he retorted: "I don't see what your gender has to do with it!"

Launch looked from between the kitchen doorway to Bulma, thoroughly mystified as to how he could hear them. "That a Saiyan thing?" she asked, to which Bulma nodded.

"If you mean the superhuman hearing, yes. The worrying and being charmingly oblivious is just Tyber."

Really, the only time Tyber acknowledged anything like that was if he had to stay too close to someone of the opposite gender that wasn't his wife or family in a living quarters-like setting, it made him clearly uncomfortable to do so. Bulma told Launch as much, simultaneously reassuring her that _no_ man she kept company with was a sleaze like Roshi or any of the other creeps they had encountered. "I haven't been hit on in a while, honestly," she laughed. "It feels weird!"

"You're probably feelin' extra wound-up too since splittin' it off with Yamcha," Launch agreed.

"I…" Haven't, actually. She had felt no inclination towards thinking about men or flirting in a couple of months; she rationalized it to herself that very few alien men looked similar enough to humans and smiled humorously. "Well, you know I've been busy protecting the galaxy from scumbags," she said rather than trying to speak what was on her mind.

"Yeah!" her friend cheered, slapping her shoulder (oddly, it didn't hurt Bulma as much as it would have in the past). "Defendin' the meek and weak from super freaks! That's my Bulma, all right!"

Somehow it felt nice to be praised as if she was _actually_ doing some good in the galaxy and wasn't just playing around for her own amusement. Sure, Bulma wasn't a _bad_ person but all the same she wasn't a "defender of the meek." She decided then it would be best to change the subject with when they would be going to the bar and, most importantly, what they would be wearing. It was only a bar, so it wasn't as though they were going to dress to the nines; regardless Bulma volunteered her wardrobe for Launch to peruse figuring they would both be more comfortable in Earth fashion.

"I'm guessing you're going to be our escort, Tyber?" she asked her teacher while Launch was gone.

To her great surprise, he shook his head, muttering something about meeting someone there that night. "Mosto will keep an eye on you. Try not to start any fights, Bulma."

"You're telling _me_ not to?" Bulma asked, pretending to be offended. "You haven't gotten to know Launch, clearly!"

He raised an eyebrow at her, gave himself a moment where it looked like he was considering what he had observed of the relatively new woman thus far, and nodded hesitantly. "Then all the same, she shouldn't either. Still, if you'd feel more secure having your guns with you, that's fine. Just make sure they're set on 'stun' only."

Guns, plural. Damn him, how did he know?! For a man that had all the social grace of a bull on the freshly waxed floor of a china shop, his moments of being observant were far too sharp to be real.

Tyber wasn't done, "And—keep your finger off the trigger unless you're going to shoot."

"Oh my god, Tyber, _I know gun safety_ ," she groaned, rolling her eyes.

"You might know, but that doesn't mean you'd follow it should someone offend you," he snarked back.

"Yo, B!" Launch interrupted the brewing argument, poking her head out of the room she had disappeared into with Bulma's clothing capsule. "I'm done, your turn!" What she ended up choosing was a light green flannel shirt with a knot tied at the top of her midriff, layered below where the shirt opened was a white camisole baring a flirtatious hint of cleavage. The top was the only thing she changed, leaving her black jeans, boots, and characteristic red ribbon.

Bulma could guess why she did, upon thinking of it, their differences in shape were…subtle but present.  It was certainly _not_ a topic she was going to broach right in front of impressionable kids, just acknowledge that she was free to find an outfit of her own and be relieved that Launch had not picked something _she_ would have wanted to wear.

"By the way, I'm limiting you to only one gun each!" Tyber called as she entered the room.

"Oh, screw you, Tyber!" Bulma shouted back, slamming the door.

Cursing the kids' father right in front of them was apparently acceptable.

 

* * *

 

In an unexpected twist, Raditz found that the bar Nappa frequented far more than usual recently wasn't a total dive. First of all, the floors were actually clean and the air wasn't choked up with smoke, the interior and theme looked almost like the inside of a ship. A sea-faring ship, or at least what Raditz understood sea-faring ships to look like, he had only ever seen them in archival displays of foreign planets. The people, as well, weren't Frieza's men or general scum of the universe; he wondered, idly, if since they were here specifically on the invitation of Nappa's friend and had been commanded to change their clothes they were the only members of the Frieza Force.

Nobody recognized them, anyway, or gave them a second glance in the borrowed Heran clothes. It was strangely comforting to not feel like he had eyes on him on a constant basis.

—Idiot, _comforting?_ What a ridiculous thought, warriors only took comfort in destruction and chaos!

"You probably read his rap sheet already," Nappa was saying as he indicated Raditz to a shorter Saiyan man. "Nonetheless, this is Raditz." He pushed the younger. "Radz, this is Tyber: Galactic Patroller, General Anxious Mess."

"Very funny, Nappa," Tyber clipped, rolling his eyes. Those same eyes coolly regarded Raditz as though judging him; he really wasn't much to behold, Raditz told himself, though something about those sharp eyes creeped him out. "Hello."

 _Hello?_ No "nice to meet you"? Rude! "Same to you," Raditz replied before he could recognize that it made no sense to say that at all. _Idiot!_ "I thought this was a Heran-run establishment, Nappa told me his friend's family ran the place. That can't be you, can it?"

"My brothers and sisters run this place." The statement left no room for argument, Tyber's gaze instead moved to Nappa. "Are we friends, Nappa? When did that happen?"

"Beats me, pal," the oldest Saiyan chuffed. "Raditz says weird shit sometimes; he's a real softie—like you."

"Shut up," Tyber retorted, pushing Nappa on the shoulder and indicating their surroundings. "I picked where we sat last time, it's your turn now."

"You get the drinks, get something fruity for Raditz, he's not much of a drinker," he joked back, already pushing the younger Saiyan in the direction of the tables.

The look Tyber had showed he was questioning why Raditz was even tagging along in the first place, and he did wonder that himself; he didn't care for the atmosphere of bars, it made him feel paranoid. Nappa, naturally, chalked it up to him and Vegeta being "no fun." Raditz took exception to being compared to Vegeta in that case, the latter had a neurotic desire to be in total control of everything at all times _including_ himself. Drinking was right out, being in unfamiliar places surrounded by people with no option to engage them in a fight or intimidation was too. Raditz just…wasn't comfortable, it was difficult to relax around strangers; there would be expectations of reciprocation in being in a social setting and he didn't want to deal with that. How did Nappa manage to do it and still be the brute he was professionally?

"Oh-ho!" Speaking of Nappa, an odd chortle from him broke Raditz out of his cloud of anti-social thinking. "Looks like we've got special visitors tonight."

"What, did Vegeta get over himself and come in?" he couldn't help commenting, missing for a moment that _visitors_ was said, not the singular form. He didn't believe Vegeta would have gotten over himself and come in anyway; he punched Tyber in the stomach on first greeting saying something incomprehensible about disrespecting him, then refused to change out of his uniform. Tyber was firm that the Saiyans couldn't come in dressed as one of Frieza's soldiers; the bar was a peaceful ground and it would remain that way.

"Better'n that." Raditz felt his chin being grabbed so Nappa could turn his head to the direction he was looking in. "Miss Feisty's here and she's brought some friends."

Oh, wonder of wonders, it _was_ Bulma; he couldn't lie, he was a little curious about where she had been the past couple of weeks, any attempt to raise her over the scouter was met with static. But seeing as Raditz wasn't _so_ interested in what she was doing (he wasn't Vegeta, after all) he wrote it off as her being busy. Now… _huh_.

"I wouldn't expect to see a Namek in a place like this," he remarked, failing to realize for a moment that he was being dragged in the direction of Bulma's group. On a second glance (after realizing to his horror that Nappa was bringing him along and there was nothing he could do to stop it) he realized that there was another woman too. Another Earthling like Bulma? She certainly looked like an Earthling, that odd similarity to a Saiyan in appearance except for the hair and eye color—blonde with mischievous green eyes.

She was pretty. She was also _loud_. Slamming her glass on the table and yelling something about another round of drinks, Bulma looked mildly amused but alarmed by her friend's behavior while the Namek firmly took her glass away and fixed her with a stern look.

"Ah, come on, Mosto!" the blonde protested as the Saiyans came into earshot. "Just one more drink isn't gonna hurt anythin'!"

"I think it is," the Namek calmly responded. "And I think it's time for you to settle down."

There was a peculiar flash of lights in his pupils, causing Raditz to balk against Nappa's pull. Was that a show of that bizarre Namekian magic he had heard so much about? Whatever it was, it caused the woman to…sneeze, and…

"What the fuck?" Raditz couldn't help but exclaim as the blonde instantly changed appearance, it looked like she was _shaken_ into an entirely new identity.

The new identity seemed more subdued; dark blue hair that she self-consciously patted at trying to tame her curls, dark eyes round and sweet, very…cute.

_Saiyans don't call things cute!_

"Hey," Bulma greeted, casually turning her eyes to Raditz and Nappa. "I was wondering who Tyber was meeting up with tonight, I guess it makes sense it was you guys." She indicated her friends with a jerk of her head. "This is my friend Launch, she's from Earth like I am. And this—"

"Mosto," the Namek finished with a mysterious smile. "I prefer to be called a _Namekian_ as opposed to a Namek, thank you very much. And yes, I'm a Patroller, too. I trained Tyber when he first joined."

 _Fuck!_ All of what he heard about Name—ki…ans being able to read minds was true!

Nappa seemed to take it in stride as he only shrugged with a laugh, "Yeah, Tyber told me a little bit about you. Hey, Miss Feisty, mind if we join ya?"

"Bulma?" the woman—Launch—said in aside to her. "Are these friends of yours?" Much to Raditz's discomfort, she seemed to be eyeing him closely. "Oh, I'm sorry," she stammered with a blush. "You just…I feel like I've seen you before?"

"This is Raditz, Goku's brother," Bulma bluntly explained, waving her hand at some empty chairs, inviting the Saiyans to join them.

Nappa took the initiative, dragging the chairs over and pushing Raditz into the one closest to Launch with a sly look. Oh how Raditz wished he could just break Nappa's jaw right then as he settled uncomfortably into the chair, trying to keep himself from lashing his tail around like an immature boy. Trying to look _anywhere_ besides at Launch who was examining him like a damned zoo display.

"Gosh," Launch said, her blush deepening. "I've heard about you, Mr. Raditz…I'm just surprised, you look so much like our Goku. Doesn't he, Bulma?"

Bulma waved her hand dismissively with a non-committal grunt, already being pulled into a conversation with Nappa about _something_.

"Kakarot," Raditz found himself mumbling in correction. It was a stupid thing to say, he already knew, these people would never call Kakarot by his _proper_ name, they were too attached to this image of _Son Goku_ or whatever the hell. "Are we just going to ignore the part where you literally changed identities with a goddamned _sneeze_?" he grumbled, finally looking at the innocent woman.

"Oh…" Launch looked down the table in a clear display of shame, fidgeting uncomfortably.

…And giving Raditz an unwitting look right down her shirt— _dammit!_ This was why he didn't spend time around women! They bare a little skin and then he would get distracted and _ughhhhh_. A warrior had more control than that!

"I'm sorry you had to see that," Launch's voice interrupted his self-deprecating thoughts (for a brief moment he almost thought to say "no, don't apologize, your chest is nice" until he remembered what was going on).

There was a scrape of chairs and Raditz realized Nappa and Bulma were standing up and walking away. What the hell? Nappa wasn't taking her off to—he couldn't be. He was _not_ so stupid as to try something like that on someone Vegeta laid claim to, was he?!

_Oh god why am I thinking about any of this!?_

"Yes, why are you," Mosto said with unnerving composure. "He's taking her to visit Vegeta, you strange strange man."

"Shut up, Namek!" Raditz snapped, startling poor Launch. "—No, I don't mean you, I mean him. He's reading my mind!"

"…I…see," she nervously looked between him and Mosto, twisting at her hair.

 _Ughhhh_. Why did he feel guilty for making her uncomfortable? He really wasn't any good with talking to people in a casual way; he had no advantage in that kind of situation at all. He _could_ mimic emotions and understand them, though. He decided it would be best to feign interest in conversation with the woman, even though he knew very well the Namekian would be reading him the entire time. That slimy gastropod couldn't be trusted, even if there was a chance the woman might—

Come to think of it, yes, he cared much more about finding out _what the hell_ was up with her personality switch. He turned the topic back to that, forcing a smile and a gentle gesture of taking her by the wrist so she wouldn't keep tugging on her blasted hair. Mosto rolled his eyes, seeing right through Raditz's little act.

_Don't you say a word, Namek, I don't want to see this girl cry or turn back into the crazy bitch form._

_Oh, how positively noble of you, son of Bardock,_ the sarcastic reply came.

The sassiness, frankly, surprised him. Here he was thinking Namekians were peaceful and serene. More importantly: _Shit! Telepathy, too!?_

_One of the many services I provide as a "slimy gastropod." By the way, she's answering your question and you're not listening._

_FUCK YOU._ Raditz tuned back in to Launch, pretending to nod as if he was listening the whole time. He wondered at the back of his mind where the hell Tyber was with their drinks—not that he wanted to guzzle down something "fruity" but at least he would have something to focus on beside _getting his damned mind read_ and awkward socializing.

"It's not that complicated," she was saying, now swirling her finger over the top of her glass. "I just…sneeze and I change. There's me and another me, the other me is…well, not very nice."

"Pffft, 'not very nice,'" Raditz snorted, forgetting that _he_ was putting on an act of being nice at that moment to get the woman to relax. "Nice is overrated, it's nice aliens like you that get stomped on by bad aliens like me."

As soon as he boasted that, he regretted it upon seeing Launch twist her expression up into…what was that? He thought she was trying to be angry, but it looked more like a cute pout.

( _Saiyans don't call things cute, stop that!_ )

"Being nice is a choice!" she insisted, slamming her glass onto the table for emphasis much to his surprise. "Being bad is a choice, too! People aren't 'good' or 'bad' naturally, it's all choice!"

Well, she was certainly going for the gold in "make Raditz uncomfortable" hour, wasn't she? He leaned away from her slightly, eyes casting around trying to look for something familiar to latch onto. Finding nothing, he realized he would have to grudgingly process what Launch said. "But…" he began, intent to argue though it was a stupid thing to do. "Who makes that choice, exactly? What if your parents already made the choice to be 'bad'?"

Launch simply stared at him with those large, dark eyes for a long moment; she didn't look like she was disagreeing necessarily, seeming to consider what he said with genuine interest. It still made him feel strange to be _looked at_ with such careful consideration, no fear, just curiosity. "I suppose your parents _do_ tend to make that choice for you, don't they?" she stated in a distant tone, gaze casting away to something unseen. "They're the ones that teach you how to be good or bad…"

 _Be good, I love you,_ the voice of his mother echoed in his head, bringing a bitter chill to Raditz's heart.

 _Oh god_.

No, he couldn't deal with this anymore; he had to make his escape right away. He pushed his chair back with intent to just _fly_ out of the bar until Launch grabbed his elbow.

"I'm sorry!" she cried. "Please don't go, I didn't mean to upset you!"

He only helplessly stared back at her for a long moment, unsure of what to say. _Don't go?_ Nobody ever said that to someone like him. Why the hell was she apologizing? Nobody ever _apologized_ to him, and Raditz wasn't _upset_ , he really wasn't—

"Your…your parents aren't around anymore…and you loved them very much. I can tell."

 _Goddamn,_ what was with Earthlings and their bizarre mind games?!

  _It's not a mind game, you dolt, any person with functioning vision could notice you started acting erratically the moment parents were mentioned,_ Mosto's voice came to deride him again.

_Get out of my head, you slug!_

_I am anything but a slug, and by the way, Gine would love her._

"Wh-what…" Raditz ended up stammering aloud, utterly confused by both conversations happening at once. Thankfully, Launch didn't seem to notice, allowing him to gather his courage and try again, "What did… _your_ parents say about being good or bad?"

"They said…" Launch trailed off.

Her expression darkened then in a show of genuine bitterness that took him by surprise. Whatever it was, it clearly must have fucked her up beyond belief he figured. _His_ parents would have treated her better, he thought.

"Well. It doesn't matter what they said. Whatever the case, I've got a me that's good and a me that's bad."

"Lots of people do," Raditz offered, wondering faintly how he ended up in the position of motivational speaker all of a sudden. He decided then that the woman must have been a little tipsy, so humoring her further would be best until he had an opening to escape. "If being good and bad is a choice, then aren't _actions_ more good or bad than your behavior?"

"The other me robbed banks and shot people," she said flatly staring at him.

 _Oh. Oh, okay. Wait—does she have a gun on her right now?_ He looked to the Namekian for an answer; none came but a snide smirk. _Fuck you!_ "So, what, you just want to be good all the time? What happens when you can't be good anymore?"

They looked at each other in silence for a long moment; he began to shift apprehensively when he realized she wasn't letting up on her gaze. Raditz went to say something else when Launch interrupted: "What happens when you can't be bad anymore?"

_UH._

"Wh-why would that happen…?"

"When you go around hurting people, being mean, don't you get tired of it?"

 _Woman, I kill people for a living and you're DRUNK._ "Never!" he haughtily proclaimed, crossing his arms.

(Mosto rolled his eyes.)

"Are you scared of what would happen if you started being nice?" Launch calmly inquired as opposed to backing down or wilting in disappointment at his stubbornness.

"Are _you_ scared of what would happen if you started being _mean_?" Raditz retorted. "People walk all over nice girls, if you were _mean_ at least you'd be standing up for yourself!"

Oh yes, he would admit the imagery disgusted him, but it was quite obvious a sweet girl like Launch would be brutalized in the cold universe they lived in. If not manipulated by someone like him for his own ends, something worse would happen.

"Maybe that's true," she conceded, resuming her action of moving her fingers over her glass. "…But, is that what you think happens when you're nice? You're taken advantage of?"

"Of _course_ ," he snorted.

"And you take advantage of nice people?"

"All the time." He leaned on the table and gave her a withering glare.

The woman mimicked his action, though considered him thoughtfully rather than glaring (he wasn't sure if she was even _capable_ of the action). "Don't you have a nice person you'd rather protect?"

It felt like she socked him in the gut.

 _Protect_. He didn't _protect_ things. He destroyed, he killed, he brought pain and that was all he was meant to be doing.

Anything Raditz ever had _to_ protect, if he was inclined, was gone anyway.

Except Kakarot, but he surely wasn't flustered enough to tell some stranger (even if she did claim to know his brother) about _that_. Even so, the Saiyan idea of protecting a sibling leaned more in the perspective of—of—he didn't remember now. Every Saiyan approached their sibling differently; hell, he could even remember _Vegeta_ treated Tarble with a soft hand.

"Are you scared to be nice because you don't want to be hurt?" Launch continued, resting her chin onto her hand.

"Are you scared to be mean because you want people to _like_ you?" he growled back without thinking.

Silence.

They had reached an impasse.

For once that evening, the Namekian deigned to be useful and gently took Launch's glass away from her, directing the woman to drink some water and telling her maybe it was time to call it a night. She only sleepily nodded in reply, rubbing at her eyes—it was truly disturbing how _cute_ someone could look even while inebriated and having just finished decimating a total stranger's feelings.

Not that Raditz cared. He was going to forget her name and face immediately, he was going to forget what they talked about, and he was going to get the hell out of there—screw this entire disaster of a night. Screw all of it!

_And screw her for looking cute falling asleep on the Namekian!_

Naturally, he found Nappa sitting at the bar with Tyber. Even more naturally, Nappa shook his head and groaned at how much of a failure Raditz was at chatting up a woman. He was kind enough to give that opportunity _right there_ and Raditz messed it up! The younger Saiyan was in no mood to argue; he only sat next to Tyber and put his head down.

"Is it too late to ask for a drink?" he questioned the other Saiyan.

"No," Tyber replied with a sympathetic shrug. "Something hard?"

"Hardest you got," Raditz grunted, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

He was going to work on forgetting that disaster of a conversation right away; definitely forgetting the Namek saying something absurd like that his mother would _love_ Launch. Hell, his father would probably like her, too, be amused by the wild side, give him a humorous glance and say _"boy, you'd better woo her before someone else does."_

Raditz raised his head up only to slam it back down on the counter. _Ughhhhhhhh._

"Raditz, you think _way_ too much," Nappa sighed, shaking his head at his companion's antics.

"Leave him alone," Tyber insisted. "He's only a kid. I'm sure he'll grow into the womanizing soldier role like you eventually."

"Shaddup, weakling!" Nappa snorted, chuckling despite being insulted.

 _I'm not a kid!_ Raditz wanted to say while another part of him wanted to express gratitude for the defense. _Goddammit!_

As soon as they got off that godforsaken planet, he was immediately going to go on another purge mission. Screw a whole lot of the feelings crap, he needed to destroy something to work out his energy _right away_.

_I'm not scared of being nice, either! I'm not nice! Warriors aren't **nice**!_

* * *

 

 

One could call what led Bulma to follow Nappa out to where he left Vegeta waiting some form of masochism; she would call it a tactical move just to see what he was up to.

That, and Nappa mentioned it was _somewhere in the range_ of his birthday, even though Vegeta refused to come inside and in general was a wet blanket. Why not give someone the gift of Bulma's company for their twentieth? She wasn't sure how Nappa read it, he only gave her a cheerful grin and a "have fun" before leaving her to go back to the bar.

 _Fun? Sure, fun for me, not for him_ , Bulma thought as she approached where Vegeta's ki signature was.

Just like last time they met, he was leaned against one of the pods with his arms crossed and watching the direction she was coming from. What the hell, was it going to be like this every time? Did he and Nappa _plan_ this or did he somehow sense her coming? Did he think it intimidated her that he was standing there like some space cowboy watching her?

(It didn't, it was amusing and felt improbably like he was trying to impress her somehow, like a regular Earth man trying not to act interested in a girl he was interested in.)

Vegeta didn't say anything, like last time, though Bulma could tell that his eyes were ticking critically over her appearance and she realized this was the first time he had seen her out of uniform. It wasn't like she was wearing anything revealing.

Okay, so the jean shorts and red tank top exposing a generous amount of cleavage _might_ actually be revealing. Who cared? Bulma was wearing a jersey jacket over it! Besides, after almost a year of exclusively wearing weighted clothing, she was going light and she was going to goddamn _flaunt_ it.

"What, not used to women approaching you?" she sneered, flicking her hair over her shoulder and stopping within a few feet of him.

Vegeta scoffed in reply, "I was just thinking you dress as vulgar as you act."

"Funny, because you dress like a conceited prick and act like one, too," Bulma snapped back. " _And_ too self-absorbed to change out of the damned things so you can be around other people, impressive."

He rolled his eyes, pushing off from the pod to close the distance between them. "And yet, here you are, coming around to be a nuisance."

That was too close, Bulma thought. When did he decide that he had liberties to stand so close?

Oh, right, last time she spoke into his ear. Well, she had a reason for that! There was some weirdo around the corner watching them! Fine, if he was going to try intimidation by proximity, she wasn't going to balk—the hell with him.

"What, you don't want company?" she cooed, plastering a smirk on her expression and reaching up to trace patterns on the chest plate of his armor.

"Why else would I be out here, woman?" Vegeta growled, immediately grabbing her wrist and pulling it away from either of their bodies.

All right, don't touch the monkey prince, he doesn't like it. Yeesh—did Saiyans usually give off a lot of body heat as well? Bulma didn't remember Goku being this warm when he would sneak in late at night to sleep in her bed with her. "Because you don't want to occupy your time with drinking," she answered, free hand going to her holster to palm her gun. "But there's more than one way to have fun, Vegeta."

It occurred to her then that he might have thought she was propositioning him judging by the way his eyebrows shot up and the slight lean back. More importantly, his fingers on her wrist loosened, allowing her to snap up her hand away, pressing it between them again to maintain what distance she could. "Hey, come on, I'm not that kind of girl," Bulma said sweetly. "I know us meeting as children _seems_ like a significant thing, but don't read too much into it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

God, was he really that oblivious? Bulma rolled her eyes and pushed past him, going to the pod to seek out his scouter. She heard a scuff like Vegeta turned on his heels to follow her, making demands to know what she was doing. Bulma, naturally, ignored him and instead ran her fingers over the exterior of the pod to the interior, marveling at the technological wonder she hadn't been able to explore yet.

"Holy moly, the things I would do if I had one of these," she breathed to herself, lightly touching onto the seat and finding what she was looking for. "…Oh, I forgot this thing was pink."

"It's not pink!" Vegeta's voice was at her side, offended, reaching out to take the scouter away from her. Bulma, of course leaned away and shot back to put some distance between them, taking out her own scouter in the process. "What are you doing, anyway?!"

"Connecting our scouters," Bulma casually answered, retrieving her tools from her capsules and kneeling to the ground in order to get to work creating a new channel.

After a moment of what was probably confused contemplation, she felt Vegeta crouch down in front of her, staring, tail unwound and waving pensively as he gave her a look of distrust. "What are you going on about?"

"You know, most guys would think they're lucky as hell that a cute girl was offering them her number freely," Bulma snorted, rolling her eyes.

"That's not an answer, woman," Vegeta scoffed, reaching out again to take the scouter from her. That time Bulma gave it up, having already finished what she set out to do. "If you put some tracker on this in order to follow me—"

"To do what, exactly?" she interrupted, scowling at him. "You already know I can't kill you directly, or fight you in a head to head brawl. I just made a channel where we can talk when we wanna, dammit, it's not like we're _always_ going to conveniently run into each other while we're working."

He seemed to have no answer for that, simply staring from the scouter in his hand to hers, then to her face. He was looking for any hint of a lie, she knew, but despite what was undoubtedly a long stream of nothing _but_ being lied to Vegeta's whole miserable life, he wouldn't find any in her. "And what makes you think I want to talk to you at all?" he eventually asked.

"You're still here, I think that counts for something." Bulma shrugged, putting her tools back and hooking her scouter over her eye, standing in order to regain her balance (Vegeta immediately followed so she wouldn't have a height advantage). "Push the button twice to find our channel," she instructed. "If I'm contacting you or you're contacting me, you'll see an indicator on your screen."

Automatically, Vegeta looked at the screen to see what she was talking about. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the little image of a pixel strawberry on his scouter's screen. "What the hell is this?"

"The best fruit in existence," she answered with a serious nod, leaning over to show what his symbol on her screen looked like. "Did I get the crest right?"

The Saiyan Royal Family crest, she meant. It must have been or at least left some kind of impression on him since his eyes widened. "How do you even know—?"

"Are you kidding, I know a Saiyan and we have a whole database on you guys."

He was silent for a moment, again contemplating the scouters and the implication of what Bulma had just done. He was trying to figure it out, find some flaw or some indication that she was trying to pull something over on him. For a moment, she felt some sympathy at how clearly he didn't trust anybody for a second, even if this was also the man who would probably lead to her death. "And who can hear us on the channel?" he eventually asked.

"Nobody." Bulma emphasized this by patting him on the shoulder. "It's just you and me, buddy."

"I haven't heard anything from your scouter lately but static," Vegeta continued, brushing off her gesture and standing back from her. "Why the interest now?"

"Really?" Bulma asked, genuinely surprised by that. "I've been hearing you from your scouter. Or…I think so, anyway. I've been hearing your voice regardless."

 _That_ confession, she realized, was something she had been keeping to herself for a while—it sounded insane when she thought about it, any time she would "hear" Vegeta it would be when she was asleep with the scouter nearby on her work bench. She just assumed it was signal crossing being irregular, though she never heard anything while she was awake.

Whatever it implied, it made Vegeta tilt his head questionably at her. There was a hint of something there, some interest, making Bulma wonder if he had been experiencing the same thing but wasn't going to confess it. "Interesting," was all he said in a gruff tone.

Yep, he was definitely experiencing the same thing. If Bulma cared more about _why_ the signals somehow broke through the magical barrier of "nobody allied with Frieza can be near this planet" she would obsess on it all night. But she wouldn't, for the moment instead she reached out her hand to Vegeta, palm up to show she didn't have weapons or any ki traps. "Hey, Nappa told me it was your birthday some time. Why don't we go somewhere quieter than a bar, huh?"

What a dope. She was practically asking him out and all he could do was stare at her like he would have rather she attacked him.

"If you're toying with me," he ground out, lightly slapping away her hand. "I'll kill you, do you understand?"

"Yeah sure," Bulma scoffed, walking past the grouchy prince to lead him where she intended to take them. Unsurprisingly, she felt Vegeta walking behind her after a moment, the heat from his glare practically burning a hole through her clothes. "Relax, would you?" she sighed, glancing at him over her shoulder. "I'm taking you to the aquarium."

"The _what_?" Vegeta balked.

 _Oh god._ She had to suppress a snicker. "Seriously…? All right, I guess calling it an _aquarium_ isn't that accurate—"

"I don't even know what that is, woman!"

"Oh, come on, it's—"

_Wait._

For a moment, a specter of dread came over her as she considered how Vegeta would take words like "zoo" or "animal display." No doubt Frieza did some sick things with sapient _beings_ if he didn't kill them; no, Vegeta would probably not like a zoo at all. Though the Frieza Force was formally called an  _army_ , Bulma knew some soldiers were freer than others, and the Saiyans were certainly not in the "free" category. Instead of blundering into a social faux pas of galactic proportions, she paused at the mouth of their intended destination. It wasn't a zoo or an aquarium; the animals weren't being _kept_ and maintained like pets, it was more of an underground cavern that clear alloy had been installed in on the worn bits so the oceanic creatures could be admired freely. Tyber had taken her to it on her first visit to Anaceo along with his children and, hardly finding time to just sit back and admire beautiful things (besides herself), Bulma fell in love with the place.

It only made sense to take someone else to it so they wouldn't just stand around bored waiting for drunken assholes to come back, right?

"Then," Bulma began, turning to him and indicating the entrance. "Let me show you? You can leave whenever you want, it's not a big deal."

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at her, suspicion written all over his face as he considered the danger level of entering an enclosed space with several thousand tons of ocean over his head. With a stranger, nonetheless, even though to Bulma he felt less and less like a stranger as she pushed the boundaries of this inexplicable thing between them. "Why?" he merely asked rather than give an answer.

"Why what, why say you can leave or why do I want to show you?"

"Why are you acting like I'm not a threat, it's only because Nappa and Raditz were with me that I didn't kill your cowardly teacher tonight," Vegeta responded coldly. "He disrespected me multiple times, first by telling you what I said to him—"

"I figured that out myself, dipshit," Bulma interrupted with a roll of her eyes. "I don't know what you _said_ , I just know that you threatened him and that pissed me off. Tyber's got nothing to do with what's between us. And he's not a coward!"

"Only a coward would hide from his people," he shot back. "And abandon his own student over ridiculous sentimental ties like _family_."

 _That_ made Bulma pause and stare at him in confusion. Why did he sound almost offended by Tyber prioritizing the safety of his family over her? Who _wouldn't_ do that? She was a relative stranger in comparison to his literal relatives. "Wasn't that the point of threatening them?" she instead asked. "To make him choose them over me?"

If Bulma could admit something she admired about Vegeta, he certainly knew how to keep his expression calm and neutral, no matter what he might have been thinking then. She wasn't sure if it was bewilderment or some contradiction that suddenly presented itself in his thinking that made him quiet for such a long time. "You got what you wanted, this is just between you and me, so why bother holding a grudge against Tyber?"

No answer again. Ugh, he really was going to make it difficult, wasn't he?

"And it's what I wanted, too."

His face scrunched up in consternation and annoyance.

"What?" Bulma groaned. "I didn't want you to _threaten_ my friends, yes, but I did want this to just stay between us. Because that's all it involves. Not like I know why you want revenge on me or whatever, but either way I'm not getting on my knees and begging for mercy from you any time soon, so we might as well see where this game goes in the meantime." She turned away from him, already striding away to watch the displays in the cave ceilings.

Vegeta didn't respond for a while, though he did follow her and watch the animals passing over with some interest. "Too bad," he commented as a giant betta-like creature with undulating fins patterned in gold and black passed over. "I might let you live if you beg."

"You keep telling yourself that, buddy," she blandly responded, watching the fish's progress and the others of its species follow after. Her eyes widened as she tried to pick out all the different patterns of the creatures—Splendens if she was recalling the name correctly—as they weaved between each other overhead. "They're beautiful huh?" Bulma said softly, feeling herself relax despite the Saiyan prince's presence. "I could watch them for hours."

Her impromptu companion only grunted in reply, staying silent as they moved forward into the underground.

"And I wanted to do this," she eventually said as their surroundings darkened. "I figured it's got to be boring just sitting around waiting for your team to come back, and being alone sucks, so why not?"

"I don't need your pity," Vegeta snarled, the lights from the phosphorous creatures making odd shadows on his face.

"It's not pity, Vegeta," Bulma sighed, looking over at him. "You don't need pity, I don't need pity. Pity doesn't do shit. Just shut up and enjoy something for once, would you?"

"What's enjoyable about being stuck with a wailing banshee in a dark cave?" he snickered, eyes regarding her with an unfamiliar intensity.

"Oh, fuck off!" she shouted, stomping her foot. "When have I ever _wailed_ around you? How the hell would you know?!"

It seemed he didn't have a snappy answer for that as he only stared at her until Bulma grew bored of the silence and moved on to admire a creature that definitely had too many tentacles. "And I'll remind you, you can leave whenever you want," she added over her shoulder.

Vegeta only made a low noise in his throat, but didn't leave and didn't say anything else. It wasn't for another couple of minutes until he spoke again, "If you had access to the pods, you said you would 'do things.' Things like what?"

" _Loads_ of stuff," she answered easily, already falling into the rhythm of talking about all of the ideas bouncing around in her mind. She only stopped herself when she remembered that usually anybody that wasn't her father or Capsule Corp. employees switched off mentally when she started.

"…Like what?" Vegeta prompted. "Tell me. There's other things in Frieza's base you didn't get to behold, like the regeneration tanks, what would you do with those?"

Bulma gave him a bewildered look and paused in her stride forward. He halted as well, arms crossed as usual, staring at her expectantly. "What, are you going to get me the blueprints for those if I tell you?" she teased with a disbelieving smile.

"I might."

Now it was Bulma's turn to raise her eyebrows that night. He wasn't serious, surely? Vegeta, the bastard prince of Saiyans, didn't honestly want to hear about the sorts of technical work she did or would _consider_ doing something to aid that.

It was absurd.

Nonetheless, she found herself sitting down on an outcropping of rock to consider him cautiously. He remained standing, still watching her with expectation. "Hey, you might want to sit down, too. And tell me to stop when you're tired of hearing it," she (quite charitably in her opinion) told him.

He found a seat himself, eyes remaining locked right onto hers. "Go on, then," Vegeta commanded with an authoritative hand gesture.

"Fuck you, don't order me around," Bulma said defiantly before launching right into the whole goddamned process of what sort of things she would experiment with on the Frieza Force pods. She wasn't sure how long it took in between pausing to hear questions from Vegeta and asking him questions in return about the "regeneration tanks" he mentioned, in that time they somehow reached the topic of her father's company.

"Yeah, it runs in the family," she laughed, showing him her capsules. "These babies can keep things of all sorts of sizes in them. My dad built up a whole technological empire around his invention right out of college."

The word "college" likely didn't mean anything to Vegeta, he expressed not entirely believing that the capsules functioned how she mentioned despite seeing them in action before his eyes. Bulma countered this by giving another demonstration, tossing out the capsule containing her ship with a flourish. The words "I'll be damned" could have described his expression then, looking around from the capsules to the ship with genuine interest.

"And weapons," he said, half-distracted by having the capsules in his own hands and looking them over carefully. "He makes them, too?"

"Nah, just me." Bulma shrugged with a grin. "My dad's a soft kind of guy, doesn't really like violence."

It occurred to her that he might have been interrogating her for information about Earth with intent to conquer it, on the other hand…

Vegeta's scouter beeping cut any thoughts or conversation off. It was Nappa, blustering something about _where the hell are you_ and other such old man grumbles. Either way, that ended their little jaunt and her unlikely company had to depart.

"Hey Vegeta?" she called to his retreating form. He stopped, but didn't turn around. "We should do this again some time. Call me, 'kay?"

That time he looked over his shoulder at her in befuddlement, tail bristling being the only indication that he heard her and reacted to the proposition. She couldn't help the smile that curved over her lips as he left.

Surprisingly, that was fun. It was fun spending time with someone who seemed interested in and understood what she was talking about, and even if he didn't at least he asked _questions_ to get clarification as opposed to pretending he was listening with a nod. Bulma certainly wasn't going to tell Tyber that she had just spent upwards of an hour or two alone with Vegeta of all people, but…maybe Tarble would want to know. _Maybe there's something to what he said about Vegeta,_ the faint thought occurred to her…before she brushed it off and decided she must have been tired and needed to go to bed early that night.

She would undoubtedly need it; Bulma had questions to ask Jaco about "the man" they were hunting and if there had been any further incidents to indicate where he was. She wondered idly if she should have asked Tyber or Mosto what they knew as she drifted back from where she came to rejoin her friends at the bar.

_…Ah shit, I forgot Launch. I hope she was okay on her own._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeeaaahhh this went on for a while, I'm sorry. It was hard to write, haha, I'm reaching the point where my outline isn't helping me as much as before! Thanks for your patience and I hope it was entertaining!
> 
> Important edit: And since nearly every gotdamn Saiyan that exists was apparently born in spring-summer time, it was Broly's birthday too. He got a cake and a little hat. He didn't make a big deal out of it, but it happened.


	13. Nightcall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vegeta has a crisis upon realizing that he might possibly think of Bulma as a friend. (Nappa saw this coming.) Bulma tells Vegeta to stop being a wuss and accept that they're friends. They also form a plan or two. (Nappa also saw that coming.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly this might be the most ridiculous chapter yet, but it's still necessary as a turning point for the main crux of the story so there ya go. Also chapter title was lifted from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MV_3Dpw-BRY) song.

Vegeta and Raditz acted different since the night on Anaceo, Nappa could see that plain as daybreak. Raditz was uncharacteristically withdrawn and irritable, throwing himself into missions ahead of them despite the risks. Though Vegeta told him not to, Nappa found himself coming between the idiot and certain death quite often. (Vegeta wouldn't have a reason to complain about disobeying his orders if Nappa gave Raditz a smack upside the head afterward for the trouble.)

Vegeta, in contrast, acted like his usual self on a surface level but upon close observation there was…something else. He went back to using his scouter full time; Nappa could see him taking long moments to talk into it. Whoever was on the other side, he couldn't discover through listening on his own scouter as a private channel had been established between Vegeta and this mystery person.

(Who else would be clever enough to modify a scouter to that extent, though? Of course he figured out immediately that it was the feisty one.)

He took to reading more often in addition to spending time on his scouter; at first it was about alien marine life with lingering on Splendens in particular. It made sense—Vegeta mentioned something about visiting Anaceo's ocean display. A little weird that he would take an interest in things they would probably eat in another context, but heaven forbid anyone question him on what he takes interest in.

Nappa could tell they both had girls on their mind, for different and very _abnormal_ reasons much to his continued disappointment. He had noticed right away Raditz's eye had been caught by the woman Bulma called her friend. He figured there was no harm in nudging him in the direction of a good-looking lady. She looked like a Saiyan, like Earthling women apparently did, especially in her darker-haired form; plus, she was blonde at the same time—didn't gentlemen prefer blondes? (He couldn't recall where he heard that from.)

Of course, like the inept inexperienced boy Raditz was, he messed it up and returned to Nappa thoroughly shaken and muttering to himself the rest of the night. All Nappa could get out of him afterward was grumbled denials about thinking she was cute and something about being _nice_.

Vegeta disappeared after Bulma had been escorted out to visit him, which seemed promising. Unfortunately, though he wouldn't interfere with pleasure breaks usually, Nappa had to cut the prince's evening short since Raditz collapsed from drinking himself into oblivion. More unfortunately there was to be another letdown, there were no tells showing Vegeta had actually taken the plunge and really did just visit the ocean display to look at animals. Sure, he had the sweet feminine scent of Bulma on him, but only the mark that told simply being in her presence. Nonetheless, the prince seemed content, _almost_ on the level of that kind of release—which spoke some odd things about him that Nappa had no desire to confront.

He stood back for a time and observed Vegeta's behavior, waiting to see what exactly was transpiring. It wasn't the torment or violence that was expected of him when he played his "games" in the past. It wasn't the kind of mad lust experienced by young men in their prime, either. It was quiet, almost contemplative on his part; over time Nappa noticed that his interests moved on from aquatic life to the technology around the ship. Vegeta would look over the blueprint files all while speaking into his scouter, setting off alarm bells in Nappa's head about possibilities that he was engaging in treasonous activity against Frieza.

Not that he personally gave a damn about loyalty to _Frieza_ , he was Vegeta's right-hand man all the way. But something like honest fear took hold of him over the idea and the terrible price the young prince would pay. _The prince_ couldn't die—of all Saiyans, _he_ had to live.

Any thoughts of it being subterfuge went out the airlock the first time he heard Vegeta laugh during one of his scouter conversations. Laugh, actually _laugh_ , not out of contempt but amusement. He seemed _happy._ Happy? Vegeta didn't do _happy_. That kind of joy didn't spell out "I'm planning something against Frieza."

By the fourth day, Vegeta was in a better mood…mostly. Of course he was very secretive about the calls and conversations, acting the same as usual during missions and only engaging in them when no one else was around. He said something about Cui being overly interested in his business and it annoying him; Nappa could see that, the greasy creep was weirdly obsessed with Vegeta and a "rivalry" between them he had made up in his head.

"Tell me about the 'gravity chamber' you made," Nappa heard him say on the second week.

 _Gravity chamber?_ he wondered as Vegeta listened intently to who (Bulma, obviously Bulma) was on the other line.

"You've trained in it?" he asked with curiosity. After a pause, he snorted, "I don't believe the coward would hit you with anything harder than a slap on the wrist, woman."

 _The coward—_ Vegeta's charming codename for Tyber. _Woman_ —duh, that was what he called Bulma, and what _other_ woman would he associate with for long periods without killing her?

Nappa glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, casually sat on one of the reclining devices in the break room. It was an unusual image for Vegeta—Prince of all Saiyans, Mr. "I spit on the very idea of taking things _easy_." Things were different since the feisty Patroller entered their lives ( _re_ -entered in two cases) not necessarily in a bad way. It wasn't _boring_ with her around, almost as entertaining as destruction and heckling.

"—Really? That much? He trains like that?" Vegeta had sat up, tail waving back and forth with a boyish glee Nappa hadn't seen in years. "Could you increase the level?" Another pause, he grinned. "Shut up, you vulgar woman, I didn't ask about your inflated ego." His tone was harsh despite the expression showing he was teasing

Yeah, he was comfortable talking to the woman, and he didn't have to think about it too hard and consider her a distraction since they weren't in close proximity. Bulma was nothing more than a voice over the line that he could banter with, just a little secret for nobody but Vegeta. Nappa was fine with letting it go like that; he even thought the two were a good match. In another life, one where they weren't all slaves to Frieza in one way or another, maybe they could have gotten over themselves and become a formidable royal couple.

Maybe Vegeta didn't realize how much power "maybe" actually had.

By the sixth period in a Standard year, Vegeta asked Nappa an unusual question about Saiyan biology. Unusual, of course, because he never directly _asked_ Nappa about those things, he was entering the disillusioned period of his life about their lost people and refused even the retellings of old battle stories he used to enjoy.

"Nappa, didn't you say once Saiyans were capable of telepathy?"

Caught while he was in the middle of drinking, Nappa choked at first instead of answering. He cleared his throat, set his drink down, and fixed the younger man with a keen stare. "Used to be, yes," he answered, tilting his head inquisitively at why Vegeta was asking such a thing. "My meemaw talked about it sometimes, she knew a woman back on Sadala that could predict the future, too." He shrugged, rubbing the back of his head. "The link only existed between other Saiyans, though; it wasn't like we were ever on the level of Nameks."

Vegeta watched him quietly for a moment, elbow resting on the table and head resting on his fist. "Perhaps the vestiges of that are why Saiyans insisted on this 'bond' business existing," he finally said with a cool, detached tone.

"Uh, maybe? I guess you would make that kind of link with someone you'd want to fight again."

"You said 'link'—explain that."

Nappa leaned back a bit, still staring at Vegeta while rapidly feeling that something very different was going on. "I never…linked with anyone," he forced himself to say. It didn't bother him, Nappa already knew his mind was too straightforward and duty-oriented to focus on things like _links_ and bonds with anyone in particular. Nonetheless, he didn't like revealing something like that to the boy he practically raised, considering the suffering Vegeta had to endure with losing his family. He understood that to be sympathy (not that he would ever tell Vegeta that, _he_ liked to pretend it didn't affect him at all). "Meemaw said that when you were…linked, you'd…experience memories and thoughts that weren't your own. Some cases it'd be like you were right there with the person you're linked to. At _least_ you would feel…them, y'know? It's just—it's just a strong psychic connection."

"What are the chances of other species linking with Saiyans?" Vegeta pressed in that detached manner.

"They would have to have an equal level of ability to a Saiyan to do that," he replied, narrowing his eyes in suspicion at all the questions. "Are you…?"

He wasn't _surprised_ necessarily that Vegeta was experiencing traces of things Saiyans had long lost; the prince was always an exceptional example of their species—absurdly strong right out of the womb and just as intelligent, prideful, not to mention _ruthless_.

The only drawback was he was hot-tempered and _incredibly_ unlucky.

Nappa supposed being unable (unwilling?) to connect with people on an emotional level beyond "I recognize your face and I hate it" was also an issue, but only a very small one. They were Saiyans, dammit, they didn't do the touchy-feely shit.

"No," Vegeta bit tersely before Nappa could even finish his question.

"All right."

Nappa wasn't stupid. Everyone said he was, and certainly he wasn't on the same level of brains as his prince, but he wasn't stupid. He observed, he planned, he compared to his experiences in the past; sure, as he got older it would start to slip and he would feel himself growing more impatient than tactical, it remained his first instinct despite that. It didn't take a genius to realize that Vegeta was giving off _broad_ hints that he suspected he had established some psychic link to Bulma, which was _quite_ interesting on a compatibility level. Earthlings were capable of bonding with Saiyans that way? What _else_ were they capable of? What would happen if Saiyans and Earthlings crossbred? They were the _only_ species Nappa knew of and had seen in years that looked nearly _identical_ to Saiyans, after all, it had to be possible.

("Human-type" Earthlings, anyhow. From what Vegeta humorously relayed about what he knew of Earth there was another subset of bipedal "Earthling" that were sapient _animals_. Earth's king was an actual canine. Nappa resolved to himself he had to meet that guy someday.)

 _That would be something, wouldn't it…?_ Crossbreeds were a rare but interesting occurrence in the past, full of potential beyond the limits of either species they were produced from. Though there was a concern that the Saiyan blood would be "diluted" and Nappa had never personally seen a crossbreed before last year….

He felt compelled suddenly to talk to Tyber about it, though he knew the man would be horrified at the prospect of a young lady he clearly viewed as an adoptive daughter being courted by a callous murderer like Vegeta. Despite the fact that _both_ men knew Bulma had capabilities of being callous herself, she was still very much a kind person, sweetly naïve about how horrible the universe really was.

(Though in Nappa's opinion, Tyber protecting Bulma so closely really wasn't going to help her in the end. He wasn't one to fight people about parenting techniques and left it alone.)

Ah, neither of them had any reason to be concerned. Vegeta wouldn't go that far, he was too obsessed with controlling everything that happened around or to him. Regardless, approaching the topic directly with "hey, pal, I think our kids have got a thing going on" would terrify the emotional wreck that was the Patroller, so Nappa realized he would have to be less direct. Perhaps he could couch it in a question about Tyber's own bond with his wife—he claimed he didn't believe in the bond in _Saiyan_ culture, but he did demonstrate Herans had some ritual for permanently bonding (or "marriage" to be more modern). Briefly, anyway, in his aloof "I will only answer questions asked directly and phrased specifically" manner.

He left the mess hall that hour and called Tyber. As usual, he picked up immediately with his brusque salutation.

"Hey, pal," Nappa said. "You busy right now?"

"Stopped over in Cygnus, manhunt ended at a dead end again," he clipped back.

The Cygnus part of the galaxy was a great ways off, and if Tyber was _working_ there was no option to meet up and talk. Orui was closest and neutral ground, it would still take too many hours for what was intended to be a brief conversation. Though Nappa was _very_ tempted to ask about the "manhunt" Tyber only faintly and mysteriously hinted at in any previous meetups they had, it wasn't the right time. Doubtless continuing to have no clue of where the target was would have the officer in a bad mood, and if there was one thing one didn't do was irritate a Saiyan already feeling cranky.

"Feisty one with you?" Nappa asked rather than vocalize what he was thinking of.

"No, she's at the hangars. Unfortunately, Jaco is with me."

They shared a laugh despite themselves, despite how truly strange it was that two people on the opposite sides of a centuries-long power struggle associated closely; they actually knew each other on a level of the idiosyncrasies of what their work entailed, what coworkers they got along with, what ones annoyed them. Nappa knew Jaco was a real pain in the ass, he even had some "hero pose" or whatever that he did—naturally he related it back to the Ginyu Force.

"Tyber?"

"What can I do for you, Nappa?"

Ah, that detached business tone, the expectation of manipulation therein. He was familiar with that from Tyber, too.

Though now that he turned the topic to _what_ he actually wanted to talk about, he was abruptly uncomfortable; it was one thing to teasingly inquire about another man's sex life (and he had, Tyber's offended reactions were just priceless) but to ask about the _true_ extent of a bond of "love" was another.

Yeah, Tyber used that word, "love." Nappa was taken aback the first time he heard him say to his wife over the communicator "I love you" in parting. It wasn't that he was _unfamiliar_ with the word, or even the concept, though along with everything else Saiyans had that sentiment stomped out of them. Love was a word not even _spoken_ among Saiyans, he was certain Vegeta and Raditz had never heard _rumors_ of it at that let alone the word itself.

He was way out of his depth. The things he did for Vegeta.

"Well…you said that when you and Zurui did the, uh, thing. The bonding."

"Got married?" Tyber clarified patiently.

Nappa nodded, and then muttered affirmative when he remembered he couldn't be seen over a call. The ceremony was private, from what little Tyber said, they exchanged vows and marked each other via pressing their hands over their counterpart's heart. Marked in blood, some eccentric Heran incantation and so on. "That's the one. So, uh, do you…" He pursed his lips impatiently, annoyed with himself for being so hesitant. "Do you feel like there's some…extra connection to her?"

"Sometimes," he answered candidly, no hint of shame or hesitance detected.

However, he did not clarify.

"Hey, pal, you know Saiyans used to have low level psychic abilities, right?" Nappa prompted.

Tyber scoffed with a derisive puff, "I am not remotely psychic. People around me are capable of magic, and that's all."

"Do you feel what _she_ feels, though?" he argued.

Silence.

"Sometimes." Again. Nappa had the feeling then Tyber was holding back quite a lot. Not that he could blame him entirely, it _was_ a private matter.

"…And how's she doin'?" he hastily changed the subject with a cheerful note.

Tyber clearly wasn't expecting that sort of question. "She's…fine? She's been talking about wanting another child."

"Oh-ho~. Been busy, then?"

"Gods alive, Nappa, don't do this to me again."

He conceded and let the man off the hook for that time, there would be other opportunities to rib at the easily-flustered Saiyan. When he ended the call, Nappa stared down the hall at nothing while other soldiers milled past.

Something was happening, that he knew. He didn't know what exactly could be done to help or hurt the cause, and though his instinct was usually to hurt—protect Vegeta, everyone else could rot—it was something very different.

_…Fuck, who actually cares if Vegeta has a friend? I'm getting way too old for this shit._

Well, he was certain _Vegeta_ would care if someone pointed out he was fostering a friendship (with possibilities of it evolving); it would be easier if he was only interested in sex—in that case he could just relieve his fascination and forget her. But it would never be that easy with Vegeta, he didn't _do_ things the easy way. He would specifically go in the opposite direction if the easy way was even _suggested_ just out of spite.

Not for the first time, Nappa silently groaned to himself that he couldn't keep up with the pain in the ass kids he was left with.

 

* * *

 

 

 _"So who is this guy that we're looking for?"_ Bulma had cornered Jaco with the question the second time he had taken her to an empty, dead planet.

_"He's a known criminal that's broken out someone we had arrested previously."_

Obviously that wasn't enough, Bulma twisted Jaco's arm (literally) for more information and got some names: Turles was the ringleader, and Amond was the convict that had been freed. From there, Turles formed a group of goons from different planets and began a long campaign of…not exactly raids but actions that qualified the term "space pirate" nonetheless.

Bulma pored over the report detailing everything that was known about the people who called themselves the "Crusher Corps." Besides the long rap sheet of crimes every member had perpetrated, it spoke a bizarre history of how busy Turles was and what little could be gleaned from his planetary conquests. It wasn't like how the Frieza Force did it at all, and in fact the two had no association so the Patrol was free to pursue him. Frieza likely viewed him as competition that wrecked perfectly good real estate for _whatever_ reason, nobody could tell.

It didn't make sense, Bulma thought, as she pinned up the separate profiles at her workbench and studied the reports of the destroyed planets.

Drained of life, entirely. Nothing left but bones and dry earth. A large tree with massive roots that seem to pierce into the very center of target planets is present everywhere Turles strikes.

 _A tree…?_ It wasn't like it was an entirely impossible idea (though it did sound fantastic and ridiculous) trees lived by sucking up nutrients from where they're planted. The only difference was that trees usually gave _back_ something in return and weren't actively draining life away. Bulma wanted to get a sample of the apparent parasitic tree, the desire to study it and come up with data that would create a solution to _stop_ it gnawed at her mind.

She idly looked up at the profiles of the gang while she tapped her pen to the data tablet she had been perusing. Tyber thought she was silly for specifically printing out the profiles on paper and pinning them up like she did as if they were wanted posters. It was true, Bulma didn't even have faces to put to the names, so what good was it having information about them physically in front of her? It made her feel like she was piecing together some case and gave her cause to memorize details about the targets, just in case she ran into them on her own. It could have happened, it wasn't like they conquered _every_ planet they visited—even evil space pirates needed a break for leisure time once in a while.

 _Turles_ was a Saiyan and had been active for years, the only information she could gain from that was Turles probably being very old. She noted it down to ask Vegeta later (though, yes, the idea of asking for information from one of Frieza's men was humorous).

 _Amond_ was from an unknown planet but imprisoned on planet Nutts ( _seriously?_ Bulma groaned to herself). He was Turles' second in command; a cruel destructive man already arrested once by the Patrol.

 _Cacao_ was from planet Ikonda. All that was said was he was some manner of artificial being with cybernetic parts. He was either a modified alien or entirely synthetic, formerly participating in an interstellar war before turning to vigilante work and eventually joining Turles. Bulma could work with _cyborg_ ; it would be simple to devise a way of dealing with something like that (though her scientific mind did whine that it would be interesting to _study_ Cacao rather than arrest or destroy him at first).

 _Daiz_ was from planet Kabocha. A former prince of a long dynasty ( _seriously are all princes in the universe evil bastards?_ ) that joined Turles after his planet was conquered out of mutual respect between the warriors.

(Not for the first or last time, Bulma muttered to herself that fighters were totally ridiculous about their priorities.)

 _Rasin_ and _Lakasei_ were from the extinct planet Beenz; though it was unknown _how_ he accomplished it, Turles got it in his head to revive the twin freaks from fossils.

Overall, a twisted circus of evil clowns that Bulma didn't want to run into but at the same time had a sinking feeling she _would_ eventually. She rallied to herself that it was what Patrollers did, anyway, and she _needed_ to buck up and join the effort to stop the Crushers. If they weren't stopped there would be trouble. Whatever they were using that tree for, it surely wasn't for anything good—not like the universe needed _more_ tyrants with megalomaniacal designs.

Besides, her genius was clearly what was needed to crack open the case and finally corner Turles.

A knock on the doorway interrupted her thoughts, prompting Bulma to look up and see Kadab peeking around the corner. They had a cup of something steaming in each hand and a curious look on their face. The little alien didn't say anything at first, they only floated in and passed one of the cups to Bulma; it was a cup of tea, some mellow-tasting herb common on outer ring planets. Bulma sat back at her workbench, silently sipping the tea and just enjoying the silence for a moment.

"I suppose you think I'm going to try and convince you not to participate in the Turles case," Kadab eventually said.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Bulma responded, eyes inquisitively watching her fellow technician.

Their own eyes, green as moss on the rocks of the sea, steadily held her gaze. A smile cracked over their oddly-shaped face, catfish-like whiskers wiggling a little with their good-natured chuckle. "Dear, I know by now telling you what to do is futile," they laughed, shaking their head, prompting a shameless grin from Bulma. "And even so…you already know the answer yourself, don't you?"

"Screw you, I'm doing it anyway, and I'm a genius so I'm going to get that freak," she answered cheerfully, setting down her cup on the desk.

"And I believe you," Kadab conceded. "Now, is there anything I can do to aid what you're thinking of? I'm not going to lie and say I have no idea _where_ you've been getting these blueprint files you've been fiddling around with lately, but your man can't help you with dismantling a cyborg." Before Bulma could protest about the implications behind calling the source "her man" Kadab continued: "Well. I've no doubt he _could_ , but not in the way you wish to do it."

"Are you mad at me?" Bulma blundered herself into asking rather than going on with the subject of taking apart Cacao. "About my…you know, my man."

(She faintly hoped her scouter was off then so Vegeta couldn't hear the condescending title.)

"No…" They sighed, looking up at the ceiling for a time. "I saw this coming. You are a defiant, rebellious young lady that thinks outside the box in several ways, including outside of the box of _rules_."

( _Does that make me a renegade cop that doesn't follow the rules like in those old movies?_ )

"I have no idea what a 'renegade cop' is, dear, but if that's the closest comparison you can think of, then yes."

"Aw! What is _with_ you guys and reading my mind!" Bulma protested, turning away huffily.

Much to her chagrin, Kadab had the nerve to _giggle_ rather than apologize for the offense. "Even if I couldn't, your expression is so _open_ regardless. Any fool with ability to observe could see exactly what you're thinking!"

 _Geez_. Maybe she needed to start asking Tyber how _he_ kept his expression so blank most of the time.

"Tyber is nearly 20 years older than you and has experienced horrors no one ever should."

"Vegeta's only a year older than me and he can do it too."

"Again," Kadab sardonically tilted their head towards her, "He has _experience_."

And she supposed if anybody had anything to say about it, Bulma would be _inexperienced_ forever. Why?

They didn't answer her thoughts that time, only gently steered the topic back to Cacao's dismantling and what ideas Bulma had brewing about destroying a cyborg.

"A device that would disable the thing's functions and destroy it from the inside?" Vegeta asked for clarification when she told him about it later. "Wouldn't you have to get close to plant something like that in the first place?"

"Well, you know me," she joked as she worked. "I like taking risks."

He only replied with a "hmph" and promptly changed the subject: "You said one of the targets was a Saiyan?"

"Yeah, a guy named Turles. Do you know him?"

"Not at all," he arrogantly scoffed. "It's not my job to keep track of lower class dullards."

"Ugh, way to be helpful, asshole."

"I thought you were a genius," Vegeta jeered. "Can't you figure it out yourself?"

 _Ohhhh!_ Bulma's temper flared immediately, unleashing a stream of curses and personal insults at him ranging from his height, to his stupid hair, right to his ugly mug and lack of being helpful to nice young ladies.

" _Nice young lady_?" he guffawed, trying to catch his breath. "In my experience, nice young ladies don't go around calling people _foul inbred motherfuckers_ and threaten to castrate them with nuclear fission!"

"Quit laughing!" she screeched, slamming her hands on her desk. "I'll really do it!"

"I'd like to see you try, _Bulma_."

 _Ughhhh._ It sounded like he honestly _did_ want her to try, too. What was that, some freaky pleasure from pain thing that Saiyans did?

He waited patiently while she got out the rest of her screaming, amused, impressed despite himself that one tiny female could contain such vulgarities. "I'm not the only Saiyan you know," Vegeta pointed out when she stopped to take a breath. "Your cowardly teacher would probably fuss about the idea of you getting involved in this mission, but Nappa knew nearly every Saiyan on the planet."

 _Nappa_ , of course. And _if_ Turles was in the "lower class" as Vegeta derogatorily called it, Raditz might have something to say about him as well. "I guess I haven't called Raditz in a while," Bulma thought aloud. "I should check in with him."

She felt the _pause_ Vegeta took in response to her statement, for a moment she would have thought he hung up yet she sensed he was still there. "Why Raditz?" he asked after a moment, tone emotionless as anything else that usually involved Vegeta.

"He's my best friend's brother."

 _Kakarot._ What did he have to do with it? Vegeta scowled at the thought—he _did_ know a little about Bulma's association with Kakarot, or _Goku_ as he was renamed on Earth. He supposed he was too used to the idea of Bulma being _his_ secret; the amount of possessiveness he felt was really quite ridiculous. What was he, some hormonal teenage boy? At best he could call Bulma an _accomplice_ then, a far cry from anything that would warrant being possessive.

A more belligerent part of him howled insistence that he _wasn't_ jealous of Raditz _or_ Kakarot, fuck both of them! Ugh. How ridiculous.

Bulma, meanwhile, sensed that Vegeta was giving off some unusual vibes and decided it was time to take his mind off of the topic of the Saiyan brothers. "Vegeta?"

"Has he threatened you?"

"Uh…"

"If he has, I'll kill him for you," Vegeta's tone was charitable, like he was offering Bulma a great favor. "He knows that I'm the one that's going to kill you. Only a complete moron would infringe on another Saiyan's target."

The last thing she ever expected out of her life was to have a man that was _murder-envy_ about other men around her. The amount of irrational testosterone therein made her want to audibly gag. "No, Vegeta, he hasn't threatened me," Bulma sighed rolling her eyes. "Come on, let's focus. Enough about Raditz—guy bugs me anyway, he upset my friend Launch at the bar."

"Ha. Idiot." He remembered that night, though he wasn't present for Raditz's failure. Of course a third-class warrior would be so gauche he would upset a woman by the sheer power of his incompetence.

"Yeah, I know," she snorted out of surprise at the remark, mood turning to amusement. It was strange how easy it was to fall into relaxed joking with the prince. It must have been a sign she was truly going insane spending nearly a year in space without company of people her own age, and despite how strangely it all started she _did_ have a connection with Saiyans. It was likely just as strange for Vegeta how comfortable they were with each other, considering how he held things so closely to his chest and was hesitant to grant trust.

Of course, Bulma would blow off any misgivings either of them felt with the situation by joking about how Vegeta shouldn't find her _too_ charming. Vegeta would scoff and tell her as if anyone would ever find someone so vulgar _charming_. It went on like that for the months they communicated over the scouters since she established their channel.

Sometimes they would lapse into silence but remain on the line, just keeping each other company. Despite himself. Despite herself. It was very…comfortable. It was almost like having a friend.

Which was exactly why Vegeta refused to confront that line of thought and told himself it was just fascination with what _use_ could be gained from her abilities in technology. Regarding someone as nothing more than a tool, a means to an end, was simpler than actual attachment. Frieza didn't like his favorite pet having attachments, now did he? Vegeta as a young boy learned that the hard way after being forced to kill and eat a small creature he had grown fond of.

Though the horrible lizard's interest in Bulma couldn't be denied, either—he could always take on a _new_ favorite pet.

The hell with that. Bulma wouldn't bow to anybody. He knew it, she knew it; she was _Bulma fucking Briefs._

Bulma felt waves of bitterness and anger from Vegeta, he felt ferocious determination from her laced with the optimism of someone who hadn't been broken yet. Yes, they had a connection of some kind, though Vegeta's mind couldn't wrap around the idea of latent evolutionary traits expressing themselves in that manner. He recalled the conversation he had with Nappa, _"They would have to have an equal level of ability to a Saiyan to do that."_

Did she? He realized he failed to give the old man credit sometimes, Nappa had every reason to suspect _why_ Vegeta was asking about those things and _whom_ he was thinking of. But the rub was _did humans have that sort of ability?_

It took some time before any question about that was asked, Bulma had her hands full with analyzing the bark from the mysterious tree left at one of the Crushers' conquests when she got the sense something was going on. She automatically reached for her scouter and went to call Vegeta, only to find that she was receiving a call from him.

"Hey, what's going on?" she asked hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

"What the hell does that matter?" Vegeta gruffly responded. Nobody asked him if he was _okay_ , he was the Prince of all Saiyans dammit, he was _superb._

"Uh…" Bulma tapped her fingers on her knee, eyes darting around her environment to make sure nobody was around to hear. "This is going to sound crazy, but—"

"You had a feeling!" Vegeta filled it in for her, sounding bizarrely triumphant. "I knew it!"

And that was where Bulma lost her cue. She blinked slowly, trying to keep her breath steady, trying to _rationalize_ scientifically about what in the universe _that_ was supposed to mean. "Yeah…? I guess…sometimes…well, it's only ever happened with Goku, but sometimes when he's away I'd just get these…feelings like—"

" _About Kakarot?!_ " he snapped.

Now that was a different tone. Both of them knew there was irritation there, but there was something else inherent. Jealousy? Why jealousy, Bulma wondered, he wasn't seriously doing the jealous boyfriend thing was he? Neither of them even _defined_ their relationship beyond "the weird boy I met as a kid that wants to kill me" and "the vulgar girl that's a pain in my ass." If pressed, sure, Bulma might say he's a _friend_ but she wouldn't say it in front of Vegeta, or really anybody she knew.

It felt almost like she was ashamed of their association there, which despite everything annoyed Vegeta. Though he wouldn't speak it aloud, he had the feeling Bulma would tell him to stop being an idiot and acknowledge that they _couldn't_ be open about the whole thing and he would react poorly out of a prideful need to avoid things he didn't understand regardless. Bulma didn't want to hear him deride her for defining them as friends; she didn't want to be rejected so openly. She had her own pride to protect after all, even he knew that.

"I guess?" Bulma stumbled to try and explain sometimes she would get the sense that Goku was hurt or in trouble somehow, mostly when he was away on some adventure. It was really nothing beyond that. "The only 'sense' _Goku_ ever talked about was his damn nose," she sighed, rolling her eyes, attempting to lighten the atmosphere with humor. "But me…it's like a—a—"

"Something in your chest," Vegeta finished for her. "Pulling, squeezing—like that?"

"Y…yeah. How do you know that?"

 _Holy shit_. The goddamned woman _did_ have the sense, just like a Saiyan.

This was big, this was _horrifying_.

But she didn't have a clue. Moreover, he was fairly certain any explanation of "we forged a peculiar psychic connection _some time_ I have no clue even when and stay with me here but this is _cultural_ " would get him nothing but cynicism. Bulma was a scientist, she didn't believe in bullshit nonsense like _unbreakable bonds_ , she had told Tarble as much.

—Wait, Tarble? Why did he think of Tarble then? He was dead, why would he be talking to Bulma?

For the first time, much to his shame, Vegeta bailed on the topic and stayed silent. He couldn't handle the _feelings_ arising from _whatever_ this was. Friendship, bonding, comfort, affection—ridiculous. All of it. It made something in his chest squeeze painfully.

Bulma was the one to end the call, saying she was busy and didn't have time for his nonsense.

 _He_ was the one wasting her time? He should have called her back right then and yelled at her that she was _constantly_ wasting his time, since they met fucking _thirteen years ago!_

But he didn't. He wouldn't. Vegeta left his scouter on his bed and left to busy himself with his go-to pastime to work out his frustration: beating up Raditz.

 

* * *

 

 

Of course, Vegeta was mad about something out of his control, so it was time to get beaten up. Raditz rolled his eyes and sighed when he noticed the prince stomping down the hall, arms crossed and all pomp as if he _wasn't_ completely livid about something that would remain a mystery to everyone else. Unprompted, Raditz retrieved his training clothes and headed to the locker room to change, muttering to himself, "I've got it, I've got it, I'll be there in a second."

It was outrageous how _accepting_ he had become of being a glorified punching bag for the little monster.

Further confusing Raditz, Vegeta didn't stalk away to wait in the training rooms but instead joined him in the locker room, sitting off to the side and watching him, tail lashing.

"Do you mind?" Raditz asked in spite of knowing it could be counted as defiance to the prince. "I don't like being watched."

"What did you tell her about Turles?" Vegeta grunted as if he hadn't said anything.

Turles? Raditz turned away in spite of knowing it was a terrible idea to turn his back to anybody (especially Vegeta) glancing at him suspiciously over his shoulder as he pulled his shirt on. "I told her what I knew, that's all," he answered. "He was a soldier in the army before deserting, he was strong but a real sick freak, and he was obsessed with my father for some reason or another." He paused, considering. "Oh, I didn't tell her that he looks like my father. I figured it wouldn't matter, I doubt the idiots at the Patrol could catch him anyway."

"He looks like Bardock?" Vegeta inquired, sounding genuinely interested. Of course he had met Bardock, everyone knew Bardock, and even if they didn't respect him for his strength it was _very_ difficult to miss that disaster area called his hair.

"From what I remember." He shrugged, rubbing the back of his head as though that would reach far back enough into his mind to fish out the waterlogged memories of catching sight of Turles. "Some bullshit about Father's looks being common in the lower class genepool or whatever. From what Bulma's showed me in pictures, Kakarot looks like him too."

What Raditz would not mention was that seeing a picture of Kakarot cheerfully smiling, appearing so happy and carefree in his life, felt like a punch in the gut. Apparently Earth women were _very_ good at doing that to him, he hated it.

"Isn't that surprising…"

"I guess," Raditz said indifferently, turning back to head for the training room. "Like I said, I doubt they'll ever get him. Even if they could, he'd probably slaughter them immediately."

"You really think that woman wouldn't be able to find and defeat him?" Vegeta's voice was at his side, accompanied by an aloof glance from him.

Raditz balked. She hadn't mentioned going on the mission _physically_ , just that she was tracking Turles and devising strategies to deal with his cohorts plus the planet draining method he used. He didn't…he didn't mean _she_ would be killed.

His hesitance must have showed on his expression as Vegeta grasped his shoulder and pulled him into a position where they were facing each other. "What are you thinking, Raditz?" he asked with a scary intensity in his eyes.

 _That I don't want Bulma to die?_ He numbly shook his head rather than answer. He had no idea how to put it or why Vegeta was asking, since when did he care about what Raditz was thinking of?

"Nothing. Of course, as expected from you," he sneered, moving ahead with a dismissive shake of his head.

It was truly infuriating how differently Raditz had been thinking lately; he was considering feelings more often, how _other_ people felt, how he felt, how they related to each other.

He was thinking about a woman who looked him in the eye and told him being good or bad was a choice.

He was thinking about his mother practically begging him to make that choice to be good.

He punched the wall in frustration at himself, at her, at everything.

Vegeta paused in his stride and looked back, eyebrows raised at him. "Raditz, don't waste all your energy there, save it for training."

"Right." _Yes, your highness, your most royal pain in the ass, don't be fucking jealous just because **my** brother is alive and yours is de—_

Raditz stumbled. Vegeta stared at him in confusion.

Oh.

 _That_ thought was one he never acknowledged directly before, and he would never speak such an awful thing aloud even out of anger. Raditz was a lot of things, but he wasn't so much of a heartless bastard ( _yet_ ) that he would rub salt in the wound about Tarble. He didn't resent Vegeta _that_ much.

Actually he wouldn't say he resented Vegeta at all ( _yet_ ), he was more frustrated with him that he remained haughty and distant as if there was no history at all between them. It wasn't like they were _friends_ , warriors didn't have _friends_. Still—

 _You're being an idiot again,_ his thoughts scolded. The hierarchy dictated all, and all of it said that Raditz was the bottom of the barrel which would never change.

"What are you thinking about?" Vegeta asked again.

 _I'm thinking why the fuck are you asking?_ was one thought that occurred to Raditz, what he ended up saying was his second and most unexpected one: "…What are _you_ thinking about?"

They stood apart from each other, watching carefully, never breaking eye contact. It was a stand-off, a testing of each other's wills in the matter. What their will was towards, neither knew exactly, but it was something more difficult than anything either had to contend with in their lives.

Vegeta jerked his head to indicate the training room, Raditz nodded back, a signal that they shouldn't be discussing it in the open hall. They proceeded to their intended destination, shutting the door tightly behind them, now was the moment of truth…

Except neither of them wanted to talk first. The two Saiyans just stood and stared at each other for a good couple of minutes until Raditz groaned and shook his head. "Are you really going to make me talk first, Vegeta?" he grumbled.

"Why not?" he retorted with a smile that almost seemed humorous. "You love to talk, don't you?"

 _Right because your months of chattering away in a scouter don't indicate you doing the same thing at **all** , _Raditz sardonically thought, rolling his eyes. "I'm thinking about a lot of different things, I'm not sure where to start," he mumbled, expressing sincere honesty for one the few times in his wretched life. "I'm thinking I don't want Bulma to get killed in some hell-hole mission, first of all."

"She won't," Vegeta insisted. "I'll be the one to kill her."

If they were two regular young men, Raditz would have thought to express to Vegeta that he was curious about his _insistent_ interest in Bulma; maybe he would teasingly imply there was something else there.

But they weren't regular young men and Raditz enjoyed living.

"And it…" Raditz carried on regardless. _Concerns me that I think that?_ No, he couldn't admit something so foolish. "Well, she promised she would take me to Kakarot. So, no, I really don't want her to die before I meet with Kakarot, she can die after that," he lied instead.

Another uneasy silence stretched on between them. There was expectation that Raditz would continue, yet he didn't want to share anything else with Vegeta. He had been honest enough, that amount of honesty he had expressed so far was too much. Besides, one of the thoughts involved how Vegeta was acting; not that it was _difficult_ to anger him, but pointing out something was wrong with him was quite an effective way to do it.

"I've been thinking that I've hit a plateau in my training," Vegeta unexpectedly said. "I need new ways to get stronger."

"Oh."

Well, that made sense, didn't it? What _else_ was Vegeta going to say? Announce that he was—

"And, unfortunately, I've established some sort of bond with the woman."

 _…Oh, shit._ Vegeta wouldn't say _bond_ lightly. Raditz stiffened in fear, feeling the blood drain out of his face as he gaped at the prince. "W-we can fix that!" he stammered immediately, balling his hands into fists as though he was getting ready to punch the problem to death. "Th-that family on Orui, remember? Mezusu? She could sever it—"

"Raditz, use your head," Vegeta interrupted evenly. "Would it not work to my advantage to use this bond?" At Raditz's blank look, he continued: "She's been telling me about the training modules she created for the Patrol. Or at least that idiot coward that calls himself her teacher."

Raditz resisted the urge to roll his eyes again, waiting to see where Vegeta was going with the line of thought aside from taking potshots at people he didn't like.

"I could _use_ that, she thinks we're _friends_ ," Vegeta practically spat out the word with a disgusted look on his face. "She can make training equipment for _me_ —for us, even, and maximize the training efforts."

"Ah…I see…" So he was planning to manipulate the whole thing…no different from what Raditz was thinking of doing. Although it made him feel slightly ill that Vegeta was going to exploit an actual _bond_ for such a thing, at least Raditz could freely say he had no attachment to her and mean it (sort of). On the other hand, it was brilliant, Vegeta was a freaking genius. Except—"But how are you going to get that equipment, Vegeta? You certainly couldn't keep something like that on base."

"That craven traitor _Tyber_ lives on a planet where those queer Herans put some barrier over it preventing any outsiders from coming in without invitation."

"…All right, first of all: who in the universe says _queer_ anymore, Vegeta, it makes you sound old."

"—Who gave you permission to question me, Raditz?"

"Was it Nappa that taught you that? It sounds like something Nappa would say—"

"RADITZ."

"—And how do you even _know_ all of that? It's…it's such a wild leap. And why would any of them let _you_ onto the planet anyway?" he pointed out, realizing he was teetering on the brink of throwing Vegeta into one of his legendary tempers.

" _I was getting to that_ , you buffoon!" Vegeta growled, shockingly keeping his temper from exploding for the moment. "I know it through Bulma, I've been—" He cut himself off, a rare look of discomfort coming over his expression. "I've been in contact with her through the scouter."

A lie. It was something else, something Vegeta didn't want to share.

Not that Raditz cared. "And she told you?"

He nodded, apparently he was going to commit to the lie, and went on: "I know where she's been disappearing to now. I intend to visit that planet."

"But you said it was _by invitation_." Raditz tilted his head to one side, staring at Vegeta with concern. He wasn't sure if whatever was happening was the brink of a temper tantrum or a mental breakdown at that point. Since realizing that the girl who attacked them as children was still alive, his demeanor had been shifting very swiftly into the realm of madness. "They—the Herans, that Saiyan, Bulma—they wouldn't invite you there. Or any of us."

"I did say invitation," Vegeta admitted. "That's not entirely true. The coward told her _nobody allied with Frieza could see or contact the planet_. Now tell me, Raditz…are we?"

Raditz felt his mouth fall open in surprise, his eyes widened, _gaping_ at him with no dignity whatsoever. "…No, I'd venture to say we're not. Technically."

"Magic is very specific in its rules," he said with an evil smirk. "That much I know, for all of its peculiarities, it doesn't account for _grey areas_. I would say I'd be able to track down Bulma quite easily."

Really, that heartlessness was something to admire, Vegeta was a true Saiyan all the way. How could Raditz have ever doubted him? He was a fool for dwelling on garbage about _emotions_ and senseless females babbling about nothing of consequence. The prince went on to explain that Bulma had shown him an _ingenious_ invention her father created that could pack large things into a small space, he had also been planting ideas about modifications and inventions she could create in her mind. Vegeta was playing her like an instrument and grooming her to be his own private mechanic.

"I see." Raditz puffed out a sigh and moved into a defensive stance. "It sounds like you've got everything figured out, why don't we start training then?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Vegeta replied, still with that impertinent smirk.

 

* * *

 

 

Unbreakable bonds formed by psychic energy that _linked_ up didn't exist, they were total bunk, and they didn't make sense in a scientific context at all.

Yet, there she was, staring at Vegeta totally unamused and fully aware of what his intentions were without him saying a single word. He stood there in front of her, waves of anxiety coming off of him at the realization that _she knew_ what he had discussed with Raditz weeks prior.

It wasn't fair, Bulma thought, it was her birthday and her year anniversary in being part of the Patrol.

It wasn't fair, Vegeta thought, she was _very_ distracting and _too damned smart_.

"You could have _asked_ ," Bulma clipped with a deep frown. "I would have helped you without all of the macho bullshit."

Goddammit, he didn't _ask_ anybody for anything! He was a prince, he got what he wanted because he just did! Nobody offered him _help_ , either, he didn't need _help—_ he had underlings, the end.

"I…" He paused, shifting uncomfortably, realizing he _didn't_ want to say all of that to _her_ of all people. It didn't feel right, it didn't feel fair to her, and the _consideration_ towards another person unsettled him immensely. "…I think…your dress is adequate," he finished lamely.

 _Fuck._ Saiyans didn't pay _compliments_ and they didn't regard things as _beautiful_.

On the other hand, Bulma was incensed and only marginally appeased by the "compliment." All right, fine, that was the best he could do. If he was going to interrupt her birthday night out with her friends and stand there while they awkwardly waited for the cup noodles to finish cooking, he damn well _better_ appreciate the effort she put into her appearance!

Launch, Tahaya, and Kabosu had wisely decided to wait outside and pass the time in their own way after Bulma ran into Vegeta and let loose a stream of swears on him about his _plan_ that he boasted about. It was supposed to be a night out with the girls for—need she remind him— _her fucking birthday_!

"You could have asked," she said again. "I would have helped."

"Because we're friends?" he grumbled, the tip of his tail twitching despite it still being wrapped around his waist.

" _Yes_! Dumbass!" Bulma emphasized her anger by slamming her palms on the table and standing up, _glowering_ at Vegeta with a look that could have turned a weaker man to stone.

Vegeta realized with discomfort he had a very clear view down her dress and turned away.

 _She thinks we're friends_ turned into _yes we are friends_ in his mind as he stood with his back to her. _She's a convenient tool_ turned into _I think much more of her than that_. He tried frantically not to think about her in that white dress with the blood red sash around her waist and how much like a goddamned _queen_ she looked like with her hair all pinned up in curls and the dignified but enraged demeanor she was directing towards him.

He certainly _wasn't_ thinking of how it had been the second time he had seen her out of uniform and Vegeta once again had seen more of her legs and chest than he had ever witnessed.

 _Dammit!_ Nonsense thoughts _never_ bothered him like that, why suddenly _now?!_

The _ding_ of the timer broke the tense silence. _You're an idiot_ , Bulma thought as she moved to take the cups off the counter and wordlessly set them down on the table. She wasn't sure if she was directing the thought at herself for ignoring all the obvious signs before or at Vegeta for thinking she was stupid enough to be duped. "Sit down," she invited him with more of that maddening regal composure.

And _strike him dead right there_ , Vegeta _relented_ and sat down at the table with her, staring numbly at the peculiar food the Earth woman had presented him. "I'm not going to apologize," Vegeta eventually said.

He didn't track her to the planet the Herans stayed on, instead found she was nearby on some overly showy planet where night clubs played a big part of the culture and decided to pay a visit. If she was _there_ it wasn't for work, since proving herself too good for missions like breaking up bar skirmishes even the feeble GP would realize she was better utilized elsewhere. Something in the back of his mind told him that Bulma made a fuss about what Nappa alleged to be the time of _his_ birth, it was only appropriate for Vegeta to visit on _hers_.

A couple of things occurred to him when he sought out Bulma; _why is the female Zarbon here?_ , _did that woman just sneeze and change appearance?,_ and _shit, Bulma looks mad._ The game was up before it could even start.

Or the game that he convinced himself that he was playing and postured to Raditz about anyway. Bulma ended all of that with her harsh profanities and physically dragging him off into a _house_ she conjured out of those outlandish capsules.

"I'm not expecting you to," Bulma replied calmly. And why the hell would she? The only real deceit committed here was Vegeta being a coward and covering his own ass rather than being honest about wanting help and _trusting_ someone enough to want to ask them. She wasn't hurt, she was _angry_ and disappointed that he chose the cowardly way that he derided Tyber for, all because of his goddamned pride. She took out the pre-packaged chopsticks and carefully opened it up so she could start eating, Vegeta watched her with a mixture of trepidation and awe at the curious objects. "You can start eating any time."

The icy, detached tone she had after the months of listening to her excitedly talk about this and that, affectionately tease, laugh and joke with him…somehow it gutted Vegeta far worse than any injury he had ever had. Was that guilt? Fuck all of that, why would he feel _guilty_? Maybe it wasn't guilt but anger at himself for the visceral _feeling_ of the disappointment she had. The one good and consistent thing in the despicable excuse for a life that he led, the _one time_ that fortune presented him with something besides more degradation, and his fucking pride had to stuff it all up with paranoid thoughts about a _bond_ that shouldn't have happened.

Eventually his curiosity about the food outweighed any other emotions he was experiencing and Vegeta copied her movements with his own cup.

 _Oh._ It was…quite tasty, honestly. Savory and warm, a good balance of texture in the noodles—what was it?

"It's a ramen cup," Bulma answered his query without him having to speak. "For when you're too busy to cook a full meal, possibly the greatest invention Earth has ever produced besides my dad's capsules." She leaned her elbow on the table, chin in hand, and watched her guest with a thoughtful look.

"Earth makes food like this, huh." It was more of a statement than a question. The only drawback was there was too little of it even for a medium-sized cup, he finished it immediately and wanted more.

It was probably rude to ask for more food from a woman that was righteously pissed at him.

Nonetheless, Bulma stood up to graciously make him another anyway. _Goddammit_ , he felt like such an _asshole_. And _usually_ he would be so proud of that—yes, of course he was an asshole! He killed people! He killed with no remorse!

(He told himself it was better to be dead for those lesser lifeforms than to serve Frieza.)

Except the only person that ever forced a retreat on him and proved to be an intellectual equal deserved more respect than that, didn't she…?

"I guess if you were to go there it'd be for conquest," she said softly, her back to him. Yes, Vegeta was a contracted living wrecking ball for Frieza; he couldn't just carelessly stay on planets for things like _leisure_. It was impossible for them to associate with each other as they did. "Too bad," Bulma forced a light tone, turning a wan smile to him. "I'd take you to all kinds of places to eat if you came to visit Earth. You'd get the full Earth experience."

"That might get costly," Vegeta said neutrally, unsure of what to make about the implication.

She chuffed out a laugh, setting down the second cup in front of him. "My family's the richest on Earth, Vegeta, we can afford to feed a Saiyan." No, it was more like he didn't want to owe a debt to anybody, he still didn't trust the inexplicable _thing_ between them even though both were aware of it and it affected them quite strongly. "…Tarble told me. That's…that's how I know about the bond."

Vegeta snapped his chopsticks in half with the force of his hands involuntarily clenching into fists. Bulma ducked away to avoid the wooden shrapnel while he stared at her, flabbergasted, his whole world shaken though he told himself _nothing_ could have evoked that feeling again. "How…" he tried to say, then stopped himself. Asking _how_ she knew was stupid, Vegeta could see it in her memories, Tarble was…he was alive. _Fuck._ He didn't know _how_ he felt about that—less like beating up Raditz any time he mentioned Kakarot now? Only a little less, though.

Another silence dragged out between them as they ate. Vegeta had just given up on trying to work with the broken chopsticks and downed the whole cup in one gulp.

The silence broke with Bulma laughing.

"I fail to see what's so funny," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

"Sorry, it's just…you're such an _animal_ sometimes!" she giggled.

"I'm the peak Saiyan male." Vegeta was dead serious when he spoke those words. "Given that you only have those sentimental wrecks to compare, it's no wonder you're shocked to see how a real Saiyan acts."

Bulma rolled her eyes, standing and leaving the eating area to enter the living area, where she deposited herself onto a couch in a puff of iridescent fabric from her dress. "Come sit with me," was all she said.

And curse her and curse the whole situation, he _did_ sit with her, albeit with plenty of space in between.

"Vegeta," Bulma began, looking at him earnestly. "I _will_ help you. You want to get stronger, right? And you want to kill Frieza."

She wanted Frieza's hide on the wall just as much as he did, in fact Vegeta could surmise now she had been suppressing thoughts of brutalizing the demon for an entire year since learning of his existence. "Hate at first blight" Nappa would probably call it.

Honestly it was insanely attractive. And goddammit he was annoyed with himself for finding it attractive.

"When I kill Frieza…" he said carefully, mashing down his rebellious thoughts.  "I will take his place."

It was his birthright, after all. Vegeta was meant to _rule_ , and after all the years of being held under the sadistic bastard's thumb he was going to restore Saiyan honor to its former glory. She certainly wouldn't be willing to overthrow _one_ evil ruler to install another, would she? At best she'd be ejected from the Galactic Patrol for her actions, at worst they might execute her. Not that Vegeta was going to let the latter happen, if those spineless sycophants tried anything he would burn the entire organization down. And since he would be a benevolent ruler (to anyone who submitted to him), Vegeta would magnanimously offer Bulma a place in his court. Head engineer of the science division sounded good. Hell, he would even let her pick which Patrollers she wanted to live, they could join too.

(He knew deep down even if the Patrol turned against her, she would never accept his help, she didn't need _him_ to give her a purpose.)

The look Bulma gave him in return was unfamiliar, somewhere between a mix of somber acceptance and determined spite. "When _we_ kill Frieza," she declared. "If you pull that shit, I'm just going to make you cry again, Vegeta."

Gods-that-don't-exist, he could scarcely remember to _breathe_ after such a promise; he was seized with the impulsive desire to grab her right then and kiss her just like in his baffling dreams.

But he would never do that. Such irrational urges were in his subconscious mind for a reason and that was how it would stay.

Bulma seemed wholly unimpressed. "You're so weird," she sighed, unsure of what to make of the irrationalities. "I guess as long as you're not thinking of puff-puff, it doesn't matter though."

Vegeta opened his mouth to ask what that was, but Bulma shaking her head silenced whatever question he was going to ask immediately.

"I will help you," she promised, reaching out her hand to him—not touching him, just offering her hand. "I'll build whatever you want to help your training."

All of that sounded fantastic, though he stared blankly at her hand as if he had never laid eyes on such a thing before.

"Generally, people shake hands when they're making a deal," Bulma explained. "I give you the means to get stronger, you turn Super, and that son of a bitch freezypop gets iced. Deal?"

"…Freezypop? Iced?"

"Oh my god, Vegeta, just shake my hand."

"No."

"What, you want me to kiss you?"

Vegeta reared back as far as he could trapped by the couch arm, one would think Bulma had flashed him with the look of shock he displayed. "Absolutely not, vulgar woman! Don't touch me!"

Bulma rolled her eyes, wondering to herself again how she got tangled up with such an aggravating man, from childhood to now. At the same time, he was the only one that didn't just share her desire to overthrow Frieza, but was frankly the best candidate to do it. He deserved to be the one to end Frieza, she ardently believed that with all her heart, and the fact that she did and he could _feel_ her honest belief was probably more daunting than any fight he had been in previously.

"…But, I'm still going to track Turles, and I'm not going to bring you to Vanishing Point," she warned him. "I can't do that to Tyber, Vegeta, I just can't."

"I will speak to him," Vegeta offered. Coward though he was, Tyber was obedient, he would clearly stand back when he learned that his prince had need of a place without prying eyes.

"No! You'd just threaten him again!" Bulma argued, pointing accusingly at him.

"I won't threaten him!" he insisted. "There's no need, anyway. Once he learns the circumstances, he _will_ see reason."

" _Reason_?" Bulma's tone took that bizarre high pitch that often entered Tyber's voice when he was stressed. "Vegeta, the _circumstances_ are some psychic link that formed god only knows when and us plotting to overthrow Frieza, there's no _reason_ there for regular people."

"So you admit that he's inferior," Vegeta snidely grinned at her. Obviously he took "regular" as a negative trait. Ugh, this exasperating Saiyan. After a pause, he sighed, "Fine then, I won't speak with him. He doesn't believe in the validity of the link anyway, he would likely spout some insolent vitriol about me raping you again."

It should have chilled her to the core to hear Vegeta nonchalantly bring up the R word, yet Bulma felt nothing. She only shrugged. The self-importance faded from his expression when he came to realize she was no stranger to such a threat, and was soon replaced by displeasure.

"Who did that to you?" he demanded. "I'll kill them."

 _Holy geez,_ Bulma thought, _he means that!_ Was it protectiveness or a matter of principle? She decided it couldn't have been anything more than something about honor and pride. He didn't consider them friends therefore he had no reason to want to protect her.

"Goku beat you to it," she responded without hesitance, shrugging again.

 _Did he really kill them?_ occurred to him to ask, impressed for a moment by Kakarot's efficiency. Vegeta decided it wasn't the time to talk about _Kakarot_ of all things.

"What if I…" Bulma ventured an idea. A very dangerous idea that she was certain would change a great many things in the future, a future assuredly fraught with peril and violence.

Oh well, what was a scientist but someone who explored all possibilities to achieve results?

"…Brought you to Earth?"

Vegeta watched her expectantly, silently demanding further context. While he was new to the "being linked" experience, he wasn't expecting the amount of trust Bulma was already placing in him. She wasn't actually offering to open up her home to a vicious monster like him, was she? He didn't deserve that good faith, all told—his first instincts and pride were screaming at him the entire time to _really_ go through with the plan he related to Raditz in a show of false bravado. Use her and lose her, kill her, end it now before something _irrevocably_ changes.

"Not right away," Bulma clarified.

( _Not right away,_ Vegeta's thoughts agreed. Don't kill her right away, it would be anticlimactic.)

Heedless of his treacherous thoughts (or just ignoring them) Bulma went on: "Frieza can't notice that you're popping off for long periods of time without reporting in. We need to plan everything carefully."

"By we, you mean yourself," he shrewdly pointed out. "Come now, you don't trust that I know enough about getting around the lizard?"

What he wasn't saying was that he greatly disliked the idea that she was entertaining, that she would speak to Frieza directly down the line after preparing all of the training facilities on Earth. Bulma couldn't be near Frieza at all, ever, the more Vegeta thought of Frieza getting his claws on her the more selfishly possessive he felt.

"I have an idea."

Despite his concerns, Vegeta was beginning to find he _liked_ hearing Bulma say that. Unfortunately, she explained that she would need more time to work out the plan and enact it, not to mention building everything he wanted whilst doing GP work. More unfortunately, the clever minx was already figuring out how to block out aspects of their link as they discussed what would happen in the future. How did she manage it? She seemed completely unaffected by their bond, and yet there he was in childish _admiration_ of her as if he was a whelp experiencing infatuation the first time.

"It's probably because I usually let myself _feel_ , Vegeta. That and, trust me, I deal with a lot of old rich assholes in my dad's business, you've gotta learn how to block out some things."

What sense did that make? The female species was such an enigma.

It wasn't just that, Bulma realized. But telling a man who lost everything early in life that her being able to experience relationships and bonds without interruption gave her the advantage of experience seemed like a shitty thing to do.

Even without saying it, however, Vegeta could tell that she very easily bonded with people; hell, his own _brother_ was readily embraced by her on their first meeting. (He wouldn't mention the unfamiliar notion of being _envious_ of Tarble for once in his life from the image of being held gently and having his hair pet by Bulma.) She had a sister, too, he had learned over time—Tights, an adventurous author that instigated the Briefs family association with the GP by chance. He never spoke about Tarble; she just knew from data files and never brought him up.

She knew he wanted to speak about Tarble now.

Vegeta stared at the floor silently as the memories of Bulma's own interactions with the younger prince painted the picture of how he had grown in the years since being exiled ( _not executed_ ) from the planet. Tarble was happy, he got along with everyone; Bulma had begun training with him, he kept himself in good shape and emulated the role of a teacher effortlessly. He called Tyber and the unusual Saiyan that the Herans also harbored _brothers_. He called the Herans _Mum, Papa, brother, cousins._ He called Tyber's children his nieces and nephew.

He was safe, and he was living a good life.

It would just fuck it all up if Vegeta barged back in, wouldn't it?

"He wants to see you again," Bulma said, reading his expression. "He…"

 _Loves you?_ No, Bulma couldn't say that. While she didn't doubt Tarble loved deeply and truly, Vegeta wouldn't know what to do with such a concept.

"He talks about you all the time," she went on instead.

"I've doubts Tyber would want me to see him," Vegeta grunted back, looking away from her earnest eyes with some discomfort. _Nobody_ ever looked at him the way she did, with care and with honesty, no ulterior motives or intent to manipulate him. And it wasn't as though she wasn't capable of it and it wasn't as though their plot to destroy Frieza was solely for his benefit. Bulma had designs to rid the universe of Frieza for the benefit of the universe, it was simply that she recognized Vegeta was the one able and willing to do it and believed he _deserved_ that chance. That baffling friendship and loyalty.

Not for the first time in his life, he wondered what it would have been like if they had grown up together.

Sometimes Bulma wondered that, too, since remembering him.

"Well…we're…we're going to have to tell him about…us eventually, aren't we?"

 _Us_.

Oh—of course, the bond. It wasn't as though he had intentions of asking Tyber for Bulma's hand or anything, _he_ wasn't even her actual father.

(Not that he would ask her actual father either; they were adults and could make their own decisions—plus, Vegeta could do whatever the hell he wanted, _he was a prince_.)

"God, I hope he doesn't react like it's something like that," Bulma groaned, rolling her eyes. "It's embarrassing enough when he starts lecturing me about working too hard."

"I've noticed, he's very attached," Vegeta agreed with a nod. Sentimentality was such an odd and illogical thing. "Perhaps…having Nappa with us would help. They seem close."

Ugh but then he would have to tell _Nappa_ that he was _right_ about his suspicion, he did _not_ want to hear the old man's gloating.

Before Vegeta could complain about the idea of telling Nappa and enduring the "I told you so"s the door abruptly banged open, startling the two and drawing their attention to a very annoyed Blonde Launch.

"Yo, B!" she growled. "It's been almost an _hour_ , are you alive in here?!" Her itchy trigger finger had already found the gun she borrowed from Bulma. "If he's gettin' too _friendly_ , I'll take care of the sleaze!"

"Sleaze…" Vegeta repeated to himself with distaste. How dare she, that crazy woman didn't even know him.

"He's a friend of mine, Launch," Bulma patiently responded. "And if anything, I'm friendlier than him."

He didn't know why, but the context of _friendly_ brought a faint blush to his cheeks. She noticed. She smirked at him. Damn her.

Launch clearly held no trust towards Vegeta despite Bulma's reassurances and insisted they needed to go _outside_ so she wasn't trapped in close quarters with some strange man any longer. Bulma conceded, taking Vegeta by the wrist and pulling him along to join up with the others. She almost missed the familiar body heat he gave off even through his gloves when she had to let go of him and recapsulize the house.

He was left confused by the action entirely and didn't like the expressions the female Dodoria and Zarbon pair gave him. "What are you looking at?!" he snapped, tail bristling.

"A little prince, I believe," the female Zarbon said calmly with a defiant grin.

"Stop calling them female Dodoria and Zarbon!" Bulma scolded him from her position next to Launch. "Their names are Tahaya and Kabosu! Seriously? You _work_ with Kabosu!"

"I don't make it my business to know the names—"

"—Of people that aren't worth my time," Tahaya and Kabosu finished for him at the same time, both wearing expressions of sarcastic acceptance.

Oh how he wanted to murder them. Their abnormal synchronization didn't help with the impatience that was boiling inside of him. "Woman," he said rather than voicing all the curses and insults he _wanted_ to unleash. (Bulma rolled her eyes—ah, she got it, since they were around other people now it wasn't "Bulma" anymore it was _woman_.) "I'll be in touch." He paused to point threateningly at Kabosu and added: "If _you_ say anything about my being here—"

"Vegeta," she interrupted, gesturing to the women around them. "You're saying that like _I_ am allowed to be here myself."

Well then, fine. As much as Vegeta didn't want to let some inferior lifeform have the last word, he was sick of talking. He got what he came for anyway, even if it wasn't exactly how he had planned.

Bulma watched him leave, letting herself _feel_ as exhausted and shaky as she truly was for the first time that night. Launch supported her by holding onto her arm, gently asking _what_ that was all about. The problem was Bulma didn't even know _herself_.

_What did I just do? It feels like I made a deal with the Devil._

And she did. She _did_ make a deal with the Devil. Though she promised Vegeta that should he make moves towards being the same kind of tyrant Frieza is, Bulma would end him just as pitilessly as any other enemy.

She knew in her heart she couldn't actually bring herself to kill Vegeta. She hated that she knew that. There was too much between them for her to do that, and the only thing that kept Bulma from _fearing_ the circumstances was that Vegeta understood it just as well as her, even though he promised _he_ would be the one to kill her constantly. _What plans are you gonna make now, genius?_ she thought, watching the streak in the sky that was his pod speeding off. _What now?_

"First of all: wow, congratulations on being one of the few humans to have enough psychic ability to say 'woman's intuition' and _mean_ it," Tahaya remarked later when Bulma gathered them around and explained the "bond" business as well as her and Vegeta's first meeting (leaving out any talks of treachery against Frieza, of course). "It's…pretty rare, I mean, though I guess it's not that useful when it's only one particular person," she added awkwardly. Without Kabosu with her she seemed uncharacteristically lacking in confidence. "So, um…what now? Are you guys…?"

She couldn't say it, the alien broke off and shook her head.

Launch was the one to fill in the gap, putting a hand on Bulma's knee and staring her right in the eyes. "B—is he, like, your boyfriend now? Or your freaky alien life-mate?"

"Oh my god, Launch!" Bulma cried, a fiery blush heating up her face that could probably boil water.

Tahaya shook her head again rather than allowing Bulma to continue with her flustered denials. "No, that wasn't what I was getting at." She waved her hand dismissively in the direction Vegeta had gone off in and continued: "Saiyans are very specific in how they do things, you know? They rarely even call people _friends_. Sure, Vegeta's a man, and we all know how men can be when met with a beautiful woman—provided they swing that way."

The other two mumbled and nodded in agreement.

"But it's like I told Bubu on her first day, they're not taught to play nice with the other kids."

Saiyans are not taught to form pro-social bonds unless it's through fighting, and nothing more than that. Having more of a proclivity towards violence and aggression than other species wouldn't help with that unless a compatible species understood and mediated their aggressive tendencies.

"Pffft…those chumps?" Launch scoffed. "They're babies who try too hard. 'Member that guy, Raditz, Bulma? He was a total headcase."

"He _is_ a headcase," Bulma sighed. "And Vegeta is, too. I think Nappa is the only one that actually has his shit together."

For a seven foot tall forty-plus year old man that engaged in mass destruction with no shame, she thought but did not add.

"…Yeah," Tahaya sighed after the awkward silence between the three had stretched on for long enough. "You can't keep this from Tyber, Bulma. Or Mosto for that matter. You gotta tell your dads about your Saiyan BFF."

"Oh my god, never call them that or _him_ that again," she groaned, putting her face in her hands. Launch patted her on the shoulder sympathetically as she once again bemoaned how unfair life was to such a nice young lady like her.

Why her? It just wasn't fair, being in the Patrol was supposed to be _fun_.


	14. Lukewarm Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody is taking this "bond" thing very well. Tarble takes matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all six of you that I didn't lose with that last chapter, here's another! Spoilers: it will also be silly. We'll get back to the main plot and away from filler soon, I promise.

"Bulma."

On the upside, officially being part of the Galactic Patrol for a year meant that Bulma had proven herself capable of working independently like the responsible adult she really was. No more observation from senior officers, no more cutting her off and sending her to bed.

"Bulma, wake up."

 _No_.

"Bulma, you're asleep on the desk."

On the downside, of course Bulma would take advantage of it as soon as possible to engage in her tried and true method of overworking herself to exhaustion in order to get _results_.

"Bulma. You're on your keyboard."

_Don't care._

"Bulma…your files got deleted, you lost everything."

A nightmarish horror seized Bulma at those words, causing her to rear up from her state of sleeping, stumbling to check what damage was done to the data terminal by her. Nothing. Nothing was wrong. The terminal was off, it didn't even _have_ a solid keyboard to sleep on, that specific model operated by touchscreen.

Mosto was staring at her in the reflection of the screen, their eyes met, she immediately felt shame at the judgement in the Namekian's gaze and glanced away. "From what I understand, aliens that sleep don't usually do it at work," he announced calmly, turning her chair to face him.

Bulma scowled in response, fidgeting, messing with her hair to straighten it out, caught between wanting to pout childishly at Mosto and continue not looking at him. "I don't need the Namekian gobbledygook today, Mosto," she grumbled, squinting her eyes against the harsh ceiling lights and faintly realizing that she echoed something Jaco said the year prior.

He wasn't thinking of ironic callbacks apparently as he only sighed, "What _do_ you need?" He returned the squint, only his was out of perplexed concentration wondering _what_ happened and what could be done to fix it. "I don't know how you learned it, Bulma Briefs, nevertheless I am _concerned_ that you've been blocking me out."

 _Blocking…?_ Her hazy mind, stuffed up with data and clinically detached observation about missions as it was, vaguely sputtered in recollection. The reels of the stopped projector of her mind turned, shooing away the dust and replaying the dreary night of her birthday. When Bulma returned to Vanishing Point that night, she shut off her scouter and went to bed. As she tried to sleep, she realized that her usually active mind was silent as she stared up at the ceiling that night, shutting off in numb shock at all of what happened.

She should have been thinking of what she would do after the night ended. She should have. That was what she did, Bulma _thought_ , she made plans. The day after August eighteenth seemed distant and unreal even when the dawn broke upon a sleepless Bulma Briefs. The thought gnawed at her that she wanted to talk to somebody until the heavy grey disappointment at remembering _talking_ only caused trouble settled in, further obscuring her mind. She should have _never_ talked, she should have never shared her secrets or her feelings. Bulma's big mouth truly never did anything but cause harm.

Thus, her mind closed, her feelings iced over, and she kept her mouth shut _for once in her life_. Bulma's trouble-making mind would process nothing but data, no words except information would pass her lips. She got herself into the Patrol on a selfish whim, the least she could do was be _useful_. Although…Bulma realized there was a chance she would be set aside after she stopped being useful…wasn't that how it always was? She had so much to offer, but not enough at the same time for the specific lifestyle of her friends and all too quickly for the universe around her.

Bulma didn't believe in destiny or bonds made by chance encounters, even after the latter was proven to have happened to _her_ she still didn't believe it. She couldn't believe in it or believe that she was stupid enough to befriend someone that would sooner—sooner—well…Bulma didn't matter to him. Whatever twisted affection and attraction was there, Vegeta was sure to be thinking of strategies _out_ of the unfamiliar situation and how to get the best use of Bulma before discarding her. He didn't know how to handle _caring_ or _friendship_ even when freely offered, even when acknowledging himself that he _trusted_ her and her abilities sincerely.

She realized she _should_ tell Tyber and Mosto, she _needed_ some reliable support to…what, protect her from her heartless friend? The enemy that declared they were exclusive in a revenge sense 13 years ago? That man frustrated her so with his contradictions and overactive mind wrapped in neurosis and fried in a vat of machismo. _Idiot. Idiot. Both of us, what a fucking pair we make._

No, Bulma didn't _want_ to tell her mentors right now, she wanted—needed time. Time to process, to mope, to busy herself into acceptance and a strategy for what would happen moving forward. She was a genius, she would regroup and plan. She just needed _time_ and to be left _alone_ though she truly hated being alone, she needed it more than ever.

"I'm _fine_. Leave me alone, Mosto."

"…Very well, Bulma."

 

* * *

 

 

"She's avoiding me," Vegeta said dryly a few days after he disappeared and came back _reeking_ of a familiar feminine scent. Nappa wasn't sure if he accidentally voiced his thoughts aloud or had intended to tell him such a thing. He gave no indication of what he was thinking as he sat there on a miserable rock on some miserable Frieza-approved leisure planet. He only stared down at his scouter like it would give answers to the questions bubbling in his mind. Vegeta looked _agitated_.

"Geez, Vegeta, did you perform _that_ badly?" Nappa commented. "I know you're inexperienced, but damn."

It was a jest intended to ruffle Vegeta's feathers and get his mind off his apparent disaster area of a social life. Vegeta simply shot him a withering glare without turning his head but remained silent.

Damn. Whatever happened shook the prince enough that he had no energy to scold Nappa about lewd comments. He supposed this was what actual fathers had to deal with for their young sons. What did his father do the first time Nappa moped over being rejected by a girl? Right. Beat the shit out of him and told him to toughen up instead of mope, and he did, that was the Saiyan way.

But Vegeta was far different than Nappa was over twenty years ago, he _thought_ so much more than the average Saiyan. It was his greatest strength and most debilitating weakness, a sharp mind made for a dangerous weapon even against its user. Raditz thought quite a bit too, but he was more stuck on _feelings_ than anything legitimately intelligent or worthwhile. Nappa had a choice to make for dealing with the tumultuous adulthood of Vegeta and Raditz; he could acknowledge that they were on a different path than Saiyans usually went or try to force the development to what was _expected_ , despite the annihilation of their people and the abuse they endured as Frieza's slaves. It was quite a lot of responsibility for a selfish, vicious bastard like him. At the same time, he _promised_ the King he would always look after his son. Always.

(He already failed Tarble. He _couldn't_ fail Vegeta.)

To an extent, he owed it to Bardock as well to look after his oldest. Bardock was a good soldier, even for someone not an Elite. Though Vegeta ignored it, he and Raditz _did_ grow up together and were a package deal of maladapted young men.

"Vegeta," Nappa broke the silence with a tone that took all the professional discipline he had to remain steady. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Only Vegeta's eyes moved when Nappa came around to face him, following his path keenly yet betraying nothing but intense thought about _something_. The establishing of boundaries was new, as was clarifying what was desired and what not. Saiyans didn't do _careful_ or _considerate_ , but if there was a time to let Vegeta decide what he truly _wanted_ it was assuredly for this kind of situation.

Choice was a funny thing, technically existing in their world but only in faint insignificant motions like "what crap out of the line of food do I want to eat today?", "which Frieza-approved planet should I go to next?" and so on. Ultimately, their strings were pulled by Frieza, he made every choice for every wretched person in the universe. The Galactic Patrol couldn't act in a way not approved by Frieza, his own men couldn't make movements without him knowing, neutral parties couldn't even be wholly neutral—everyone obeyed Frieza or else. Nappa could at least let Vegeta have _some_ choice, even if it ended up being for nothing.

"The hell does it matter to you, Nappa?" Vegeta brushed him off.

Ah, now that was normal for the prince: pushing people away, convincing himself nobody was _actually_ loyal, "everybody back off, I'm emotionally constipated."

"I can't get rid of a problem if I don't know the details," Nappa carelessly replied.

Careless, of course, because the moment he said "get rid of" Vegeta had stood up, turning a frightening gaze to him. Nappa found himself with Vegeta's hands around his neck sprawled on the ground in the next instant, a wild look of _rage_ in his eyes. "If you touch her—I'll _kill you_ , Nappa!" he hissed with notes of a hysterical wheeze in his tone.

Despite the fury, Vegeta's hands weren't wrapped as tightly around his neck as they could have been, allowing Nappa to speak. He had some reason left. " _Vegeta_ , take a deep breath—calm down!" he cautioned him, taking his wrists to pull the angry Saiyan off. "I spoke without thinking, I apologize for that."

"Without thinking" was an understatement, encroaching on a Saiyan's territory was a death sentence for any ordinary person. However, unlike most Saiyans Nappa had known, Vegeta could be reasoned with and was used to the calm words and reminders to breathe from when he was a child. Ironically, as the boy grew into a man Vegeta had taken on the role of calming presence himself for when Nappa started to lose his cool.

The grip loosened before Nappa could realize his head was starting to swim and Vegeta took a breath, another breath, he started a rhythm of breathing as he let go and backed off, allowing the older Saiyan to stand back up. "…So, you made a bond with her," he said, speaking aloud the suspicion he had been harboring the past four months. "You linked up without even realizing, you wanted to meet her again that bad."

_" **Obviously,**  you'd keep running into that person—because you would be seeking them out to defeat them!"_

In the cosmic joke that was the Saiyans' lives, it was amusing that Vegeta ended up being right and wrong at the same time about the validity of the bond. A link born from a deep desire to meet with a person again, playing on the latent psychic abilities of a Saiyan. It was still a mystery as to how it worked and how it decided upon _who_ linked, but he supposed it all came down to desire.

Just…it wasn't the most romantic kind of desire. Not that Saiyans did romance.

Vegeta crossed his arms and grunted, "I was a child."

Like that was even a defense…? It wasn't as though Nappa was going to start teasing him by suggesting he'd had a crush since he was seven.

(He would have, but right then wasn't the time.)

"You linked," Nappa repeated carefully, trying to get the facts together. "But she wasn't linked with you, not for a while."

A flash of discomfort went across Vegeta's face. Bingo.

"Well, put purple lipstick on me and call me Frieza's mom, humans can link with Saiyans!"

Or at least _that_ human could. Vegeta _would_ find the most exceptional type of an alien species, wouldn't he? Only the best and most unique for the Saiyan prince.

Nappa crossed his arms, staring at him in a rare show of quiet contemplation. "In that case…what's happening?"

As if he'd ever get an honest answer to _that_ question. He wouldn't say it aloud, Vegeta wasn't _sure_ what was happening, he wasn't sure what he really _wanted_. Nappa could tell that he felt cornered and confused, unsure of the what and why and how does he work with such a thing?

"She's going to build modules that will help me train," Vegeta eventually said, clearly choosing his words with careful thought. "And I told her about the link being proof that I will be the one to kill her."

Nappa forced himself not to groan at the information, embarrassed _for_ Vegeta at the silly statement. "Vegeta," he said with a long sigh. "You know those weaker species are sensitive, you ca—"

"Nappa, she's fucking amazing," he unexpectedly cut him off, eyes widening with that same boyish glee he had displayed whenever he talked to Bulma about whatever the hell they talked about. "I told her I would be the one to rule the universe if not for Frieza and she _threatened_ me."

Vegeta spoke a hard swear aloud despite insisting it was beneath someone of his station, he also paid a genuine compliment with nothing backhanded therein. Sure, the person that was the subject of the compliment wasn't around to hear it, but it was still a _big_ thing for Vegeta. Nappa's eyes widened in shock, jaw dropping at the information and the behavior from the prince. Not just him, _Bulma_ was turning out to be a stunning player in the game as well, facing down a storm of pain and death and belligerently insulting and threatening him in response was very Saiyan. Vegeta plainly believed she would carry out the threat and _approved_.

( _I knew she was good for him, I knew it!_ Nappa's oft-ignored inner fatherly instincts crowed.)

"…You haven't said that you told me so." He squinted up at Nappa suspiciously, causing the older man to suppress a snort.

Was _that_ why he had kept his big mouth shut the past few days? "Well…I told you that Saiyans have instincts, and instinct can't be ignored, that much is true." He rubbed the back of his head and shrugged. "It's not like—"

"Nappa. I wanted to kiss her. Unceasingly."

 _Holy shit._ Vegeta never _ever_ talked about things like that, let alone wanting to do them, it was always training and work before last year. "Uh…c-congrats, I guess?" Nappa stammered, mentally scrambling to figure out what to say next. Of all things, Vegeta was admitting to having _physical attraction_ to a woman at least in some measure, but the way he talked about it bluntly and with annoyance showed it frustrated him that it was even happening. It was a revelation and a big thing for him, yes, but Vegeta didn't seem driven to follow through on the impulses. "Then…what now?" he finally managed to ask.

"She hasn't spoken to me in days," Vegeta responded, looking down at the ground with irritation, tapping his fingers on his arm as he kept himself closed off in posture. "I also haven't…" His lip curled for a moment like the very thought disgusted him to even voice: " _Felt_ anything. Nothing. From her, I mean to say, of course I'm furious that she's ignoring me."

Not just furious, career bad man Prince Vegeta looked…disappointed, almost lost. That was alarming as hell, but Nappa figured it was due to lacking experience with dealing in the matters of the fairer sex. Moreover, he had been bent on the idea of _revenge_ against that particular woman for years, _bonding_ with her mentally and emotionally wasn't part of the scheme. Hell, actually _enjoying talking to her_ probably wasn't part of the scheme, either. Nappa was left unsure of how to approach the situation; he couldn't advise as if Vegeta was seriously trying to court her, yet he couldn't advise violence at the same time since it clearly made Vegeta angry to hear suggestion of harming Bulma. _Oh well, I gotta try **something**_. "Hey, sometimes chicks just need space, Vegeta," he explained with a shrug of his shoulders and a shift of his weight from one foot to another. "Especially the brainy ones, ain't nothin' more dangerous than a woman that's smart." He wasn't sure if he intended to mean that as a bad thing since Saiyans found danger _enthralling_ but carried on: "It's probably new to her. I think it's safe to say that Earthlings generally don't bond psychically by advertising that they're down to fight. Plus—admit it, Vegeta, _you_ hate the idea of someone that's got a backdoor to your brain, too."

Naturally, Vegeta was a private man, the mere thought of someone, _anyone_ existing that he couldn't hide his inner self from was a nightmare. At the same time, he looked honestly perplexed and almost offended that someone would equally hate the idea of _him_ in their mind. There was more to it than that, other things the unhappy pair had discussed, but Vegeta wouldn't share for the time being and Nappa wouldn't push.

After a moment of silent thought, the prince seemed to reach a state of acceptance and nodded. "She's a frivolous woman," he said in his usual gruff way. "Not much goes on in that empty head of hers, but even she has a right to privacy."

Nappa shook his head, sighing, thinking that Vegeta really didn't need to say so much just to admit that he respected the woman enough to let her have privacy in a backhanded way. He would have taken a shrug or a roll of his eyes as an answer, even. But no—Prince "I don't share my stuff but hey why aren't you sharing with me, just asking for my ego" Vegeta _had_ to be difficult and couch his thoughts in derision and insistence that he didn't care.

"I've decided that the coward needs to know," he abruptly changed the topic, causing Nappa's head to spin at the sudden inclusion of the luckless officer. "He's unreasonably protective of her." _'I don't like it,'_ was implied, though Vegeta liked very few things. "If I'm to move forward with my plan, he needs to stand aside." _'There's a use for him but he's not obedient enough yet, I'm going to change that.'_

Nappa was really setting a record for times he felt genuine sympathy in the past year, he exhaled through his nose and frowned. "Come on, Vegeta, Tyber's harmless. He's not in the way of anything."

That was in no way true, they both knew it, a Saiyan that was protective of something or someone would _kill_ for their object of devotion. Even Saiyan parents could be defensive over their offspring despite few being very involved in child rearing. Tyber wasn't terribly ill-tempered from Nappa's experience, he practiced restraint and only occasionally took Nappa up on offers to spar. The way he fought was equally restrained, of course, as he was used to keeping things level and light since he taught combat. Him going all out was not something Nappa ever anticipated, especially not against Vegeta. He didn't enjoy the thought of Tyber fighting Vegeta, but suspected territorial rage would bury all sense of reason.

"I have no interest in petty territory squabbles with a weakling," Vegeta stated. "But—if he engages me that way, of course I'm going to show him his place."

"Don't kill him," Nappa blurted out on impulse, then inwardly cringed at himself for the weak show of begging. "I mean…well…"

It scared him how indifferent Vegeta seemed to be to other Saiyans living, it only got worse year after year. How long until he started actively killing other Saiyans until he was the only one left? He wondered that sometimes, late at night, he wondered where he went wrong that Vegeta ended up that way.

The prince scoffed, "He doesn't deserve my full power. Besides, that irritating woman would fuss too much if I broke her worthless teacher."

 _'It would upset Bulma, so I won't do that,'_ was what Nappa read from the statement.

"At any rate, I wanted you to come along anyway," Vegeta continued haughtily. "He seems more comfortable around you."

"I'd say so, considering the last time we all met you reversed the contents of his stomach."

"Don't be crude, Nappa." He raised his hand to his scouter, touched it lightly with his fingertips—it was a strangely gentle gesture from Vegeta. He usually went through scouters like a Saiyan would a meat buffet, but _that_ model he had been treating with utmost care. "Bulma will be with us, anyway, so if you're there he won't have an excuse to accuse me of vulgarities."

Nappa looked from Vegeta to the scouter, then up at the sky as though he would be able to see Anaceo in the distance where he usually met with Tyber. "Err…you're going to call this meeting _after_ you've given her time to cool down and consider this bond thing, aren't you?"

" _Ugh._ " Vegeta rolled his eyes.

"Come on, Vegeta, you know how weaker races are!" Nappa persuaded. "Give her time. Don't you need time, too?"

"My only concern is getting stronger! I have no time to be dwelling on trivial things like _that_!"

To get stronger, yes. It was Vegeta's obsession. For what reason? To meet with stronger and stronger opponents and be able to fight them on an equal level? For the thrill of fighting? No, it was only for his own sake. Business. Ego. Feeling like he can at least control _something_ in the atrocious universe they lived in. Nappa was honestly not sure if Vegeta or Raditz even _enjoyed_ fighting anymore or if they regarded it as simply _work_.

That was Frieza's ultimate trick in the end, to groom Saiyans to only fight for the sake of carrying out his destructive real estate schemes as opposed to what came natural to them. "You can train a monkey" and all that.

It sickened him, sickened and saddened him to see how far the proud Saiyan race had fallen, all because of Frieza.

But Nappa wouldn't discuss that. Not today. Not with Vegeta. He would only suggest that they return to base for now and talk about plans to meet with their "friends" later.

"It has to be Anaceo where we meet," Vegeta insisted as they went back to their pods.

"Are you actually going in the bar this time, Vegeta?" Nappa asked.

"No. In the ocean display."

What was so special about the ocean display? Ah, never mind, nobody gave him permission to question the prince, now did they?

"…Vegeta."

"What do you want, idiot."

"Vegeta, she defeated you again. That's twice now."

"Shut up! She did not!"

She most certainly did, Nappa was fully prepared to count "from enemy to ally and vague object of desire" as a victory in Bulma's favor. At least until it stopped being funny to tease Vegeta about.

 

* * *

 

 

Nobody told Bulma Briefs what to do, nobody made her feel how she didn't want to feel. She was independent and wouldn't let herself get in a tizzy over something that demanded her attention in a specific way.

And yet, Vegeta demanded her attention every night. Not in the usual way a man would demand it (or at least the way she would want it), of course. That cocky bastard barged right into her mind to do it, and even after cutting off contact from him he showed up in her _dreams_. Same as always: arrogant, confident, obnoxious.

"Aren't those words that would best describe you?" the vision of him in her _nightmares_ (they surely weren't dreams!) snickered at her

"Psychic links are bullshit! And since when do they involve dream-sharing?!" Bulma yelled back.

"They don't," the Vegeta illusion replied in a matter-of-fact tone, giving her an impressive imitation of Vegeta's scornful expression. "I'm not actually here with you, I'm a manifestation of your guilt and anxiety about the _real_ Vegeta." It planted its hands on its hips and sneered condescendingly at her, "It's been two weeks. You _miss_ him."

"Fuck you!" Bulma spat hatefully, balling up her fists and taking a swing at the figure.

Of course, her punches whiffed right through it as though it were made of mist. The grip it took on her wrist was solid, however, _too_ solid. As was its pull to bring her closer, as was it purring in her ear, "Careful, Bulma. You keep saying that and I _might_ take it as an invitation."

"Cut it out!" Bulma pushed away from the fake Vegeta and grabbed her gun, rapidly shooting at the thing to get rid of it. "The _real_ Vegeta would never say that!" she asserted. The voice was the same ( _and it has no business sounding sexy!_ ), the looks were the same, but it _wasn't_ Vegeta. It had none of his inexplicable body heat and oddly adorable prudishness. "And the _last_ thing I need is to have naughty dreams about that guy!"

"You already have," it responded with that same matter-of-fact tone despite now being filled with holes. "You've been celibate for a full year now, you're repressed as hell. Though I'll remind you: Yamcha didn't have the courage to go down, let alone all the way."

_"SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!"_

—"You don't even _know_ him!" Bulma awoke with an outraged scream, still swinging her fists at something that wasn't there.

 _Oh_. Nobody was there. Like a true phantom, nothing could be seen except darkness. Darkness and loneliness. Bulma's shoulders slumped as she looked around the room forlornly, realizing, remembering, she was alone.

Alone, even though she was surrounded by people that cared at Vanishing Point. Ha. She was truly insane at that point, wasn't she? Of all people Bulma Briefs could have befriended and connected with so sincerely had to be a coldblooded bastard like Vegeta. It was impossible, ridiculous, totally one-sided on her part…

And it was distracting her from her work. Saying she needed time alone didn't do _anything_ to relieve her distress, the seconds—no, _days_ that ticked by weighed on her one after the other, like many stones on her chest.

_I should…tell him…_

Tell him what? That she was going insane not being able to talk about whatever with a voice on the other end that understood her on a level that nobody did? He would probably mock her for being weak if she was truly honest about how she felt.

She hated it, she hated the feeling of being powerless and afraid. _He_ made her feel like that. But _nobody_ made Bulma Briefs feel how she didn't want to feel.

Nobody except Vegeta, apparently.

Bulma Briefs wasn't a cowardly person, though she wasn't a brave person at the same time. She wasn't a hero that directly confronted the villains and went head to head with them, she was the brainy scientist. She made plans, she made gadgets, she toppled threats from the inside with the sheer power of her genius.

She didn't feel much like a genius then, she felt like a lonely idiot.

A lonely idiot who didn't realize that as she tried to force herself to go back to sleep, someone was nicking her scouter from her workbench to make a call.

 

* * *

 

 

By the fourth time Bulma had awoken screaming, and the fifteenth time he had heard her crying his brother's name in her sleep, Tarble had enough of _whatever_ was happening. Bulma had been vague about details, only hinting at an idea that he was right about Vegeta not being all that bad. While he was _overjoyed_ that Bulma was able to see the good that he saw too, there was nothing good about what was happening then. Tarble wasn't a strong or vicious Saiyan, but he was clever and observant, he knew that Bulma communicated with his brother through her scouter.

Also, nobody would suspect Tarble of stealing anything and wouldn't question him being around her workbench if he happened to be spotted while taking her scouter out of the drawer.

Push the button twice to access the channel—their channel—he remembered from observing Bulma.

 _"It's about time you came to your senses, foolish woman,"_ a harsh voice came from the other side, sending Tarble into a spinning flash of nostalgia. Yes, it wasn't _quite_ the voice that he remembered, but he recognized the timbre, making a show of how much he didn't care about whomever he was talking to (but really, painfully caring _a lot_ ). It was Vegeta.

"Brother," he responded, half on impulse half in relief at the conversation being _real_. He was talking to his brother again! "Sorry, Bulma's asleep right now."

There was silence then, a hitched breath, half-formed words trying to make a coherent reply. Eventually it came out: _"You're alive."_

"I am," Tarble confirmed his shocked statement. "But I'm not on your mind right now, am I, Vegeta?"

 _"What the hell is **that** supposed to mean?"_ Vegeta grumbled back. _"For that matter, you say Bulma's asleep, but you have her scouter. Why is that?"_

"I stole it from her workbench."

_"…Oh."_

"…Brother? What did you think?" he asked, slightly alarmed by the implication.

 _"Nothing! Shut up!"_ the elder sputtered in his "I was thinking a lot of unpleasant things that I don't like" tone.

Tarble sighed, "Vegeta. I know you and Bulma are bonded, and I know that she's going mad."

_"She's always mad, that blasted woman has a vicious temper."_

"Like you're one to talk, Brother." He rolled his eyes, turning back to be sure nobody was awake and hearing what he was doing. "And I mean mad like crazy, she's been shouting your name in her sleep the past two weeks, waking up screaming, all that."

A long silence followed, causing a perplexed frown to form on Tarble's face. "Brother?"

_"You're sure it's **my** name?"_

"Brother. How many people do we know with the name Vegeta? …And before you say our father, please remember that Bulma has never even met him."

 _"Never mind,"_ he huffed in his "I got caught doing something bad" tone. _"Get to the point already, Tarble."_

Ah finally, getting to the point. Tarble cleared his throat and proposed his plan: "She can't carry on like this, it's interfering with her work—Brother don't you dare cut in with something about your training, I mean it."

Vegeta didn't, though he did mumble something about when did Tarble get so self-assertive.

"Anyway, you must have some plan to meet up with her again already, correct? I wanted to coordinate that with you."

Though their years together were short, Tarble did remember the times of Vegeta tromping around proudly proclaiming how he would be King someday and the brothers putting their heads together to give Nappa grief just for the fun of it.

Nappa was bald now, if he remembered right from his file. He knew without a doubt Vegeta was why.

_"…The coward and her, Anaceo ocean display. Nappa and I will meet with them."_

"All right then," Tarble replied casually, though part of his Saiyan instinct for fighting nagged at him about wanting to argue the point of Tyber not being a coward with Vegeta. "I'll get them and bring them over."

A sputter came from the line, _"Are you crazy?! You don't know how to drive a ship! And how are you going to get them, aren't they asleep right now!?"_

"I practiced driving when Tyber wasn't looking," he answered with a small smirk. "And they _both_ sleep like the dead."

_"…What in the universe **happened** to you, it's like I don't even know you anymore."_

"Well, technically—" Tarble's smile grew into a cocky grin. "You don't. I was dead for the past decade or so, remember?"

Vegeta plainly wasn't sure if he was awed or concerned at what happened to make his little brother such a conniving sneak. At the same time, they were making a cunning plan together again, weren't they? Tarble wondered vaguely if, since Nappa was involved somehow, what grief was the old man getting just from dealing with Vegeta alone.

He didn't know, he _did_ know that Tyber was going to be angry and Broly would be worried. But Broly didn't have to know and Tyber would be dealing with Vegeta once they reached Anaceo, it would be fine. This was all for the best.

 _Or at least it's the best I can do for these stubborn fools,_ the young Saiyan thought to himself with a scowl of distaste. He didn't know very much about life in general, isolated as he was, and he didn't have much context to the sort of bond that Bulma and Vegeta had, but instinct told him it was _important_ and couldn't be ignored.

 

* * *

 

 

"Tarble."

"Yes, Tyber?"

"You brought me and Bulma to Anaceo. In our pajamas."

"Yes, it seems like that's the case."

Vegeta turned away, practically stuffing his fist in his mouth to keep himself from visibly laughing at the spectacle.

Tyber, a proud Saiyan and righteous Galactic Patroller, stripped down to nothing but loose pants he called "pajamas" was standing in the middle of Anaceo's ocean display glaring at Tarble, utterly _pissed._ "You _stole_ a _ship_ and abducted us," he continued in an icy paternal tone.

Bulma fared no better crossing her arms as if that would preserve her modesty with the flimsy slips that accounted for sleepwear with her.

(It didn't. Vegeta was thankful for having turned away at that moment so he wouldn't be caught up in gawking at the tiny shirt and shorts.)

"Technically, Tyber, it's the family ship," Tarble spoke calmly with his hands behind his back, posture straight and proud. Apparently, he recalled more of his pedigree as a royal than previously thought, only a true prince could maintain an air of dignity and calm in such a preposterous situation. (Which of course was why Vegeta was shaking with suppressed laughter while Bulma glowered at him.) "Am I not family, Tyber?" He tilted his head with feigned curiosity at the older Saiyan.

" _YOU DON'T HAVE A LICENSE!!_ " Tyber thundered, sparks of electric ki shooting up in small bolts as he rapidly unraveled.

"Hey, pal," Nappa, ever the good sport trying to keep it together as if he wasn't about to lose it himself, soothed him. "Let's just take a deep breath and calm down." Even though he was visibly sweating at his entire world being shattered with the revelation that Tarble was _alive_.

It was the perfect reunion in Vegeta's opinion, no sappy bullshit but plenty of pissed off people. Bulma was turning a nice shade of red as she huffed, "We're in our pajamas! Out in _public_! I am way past breathing to calm down!"

"You call those pajamas? I'd say they qualify more as undergarments," Vegeta couldn't help but jeer.

(He could help it, but irritating Bulma was too entertaining to pass up.)

"FUCK YOU!" Bulma howled, slapping him across the face.

Several things happened at once then: Tyber scolding her to watch her language, Bulma retorting that Tyber needed to take the stick out of his ass, and Nappa asking Vegeta if he was okay.

"He's fine," Vegeta heard Tarble say.

And he was, the impact left a half inch Vegeta-shaped hole in the cavern floor, but dammit it was worth it, and he couldn't stop smiling. The smile didn't fade even as he stood and brushed himself off, positively relishing in her rage. _This_ was the Bulma he knew, not the moping fool denying what was right in front of her but the fiery-eyed hellcat winding up to strike at him again. _You know, I think Nappa's right, it would be a waste to kill her_ , his impudent thoughts pointed out.

Tyber grasping her wrist and leading her away from him absolutely spoiled the moment. Though her continuing to swear at Vegeta and detailing all the ways she would make him suffer as she was dragged away made up for it. With the unlucky woman gone, however, all focus fell on Tarble as Vegeta and Nappa turned to him.

It was Nappa who spoke first after a long silence of examining him in dumbfounded silence, "Prince Tarble?"

Tarble smiled, that simple expression striking the two Saiyans at how much and how little he changed over the years. He looked plenty mature despite being even shorter than Vegeta, he bore a resemblance to how the royal family males tended to appear, yet he was…kind at the same time. Soft. "I'm not a prince anymore, Nappa," he answered the address, seeming genuinely pleased to be able to say he no longer had the burden of his title by birth. "Father made it clear when I was exiled that I was no longer part of the royal family."

Vegeta made a small hissing noise between his teeth—of course Father did that, a moment of being noble and wanting to protect his sons but at the same time having a hardnosed dedication to _tradition_ and rules. It _used_ to be fine for Vegeta when he was young, until they took Tarble away. Until it made his mother scream and weep with loss. He hated and respected their father at the same time. It occurred to him that if Bulma were present for the conversation, she would say something like _"well, screw him! He's dead now, isn't he? You guys can make your own rules!"_ to which Vegeta would promptly remind her they still had Frieza to deal with.

_I know we have Frieza to deal with, but you're going to do it, **we're** going to do it—he's a dead lizard._

Ah. That troublesome woman picked a fine time to stop blocking out their link, didn't she? Bulma countered with her not being able to help it since he was directly _thinking_ about hypothetical conversations between them. _As if I would believe that, and what's that nonsense about repression floating around in your memories?_

None of his business, she insisted. Nappa waving a hand in front of his eyes broke him out of the psychic conversation only for him to find Tarble smirking at him. "What the hell are you looking at?!" Vegeta spat.

"I'm looking at you, Vegeta," his _asshole little brother_ sarcastically replied.

_He's a clever little shit, right?_

_Yes, he is, when did **that** happen?! _ Vegeta wasn't sure if he was proud or aghast that his own sweet-natured brother knew _much_ more than he had ever bargained for. Mostly he was angry in retrospect that _he_ wasn't there by Tarble's side teaching him all that cunning and sarcastic bites as they grew up.

Left at a standstill, the three Saiyans awkwardly meandered apart from each other to wait for Tyber and Bulma to get back. Tarble explored the display, pointing out and naming every fish he could with giddy excitement while Vegeta and Nappa stood back unable to digest what an unusual situation they ended up in.

"I made a bond with someone that isn't a Saiyan," Vegeta began, slowly putting the facts together while Nappa nodded. "I made a bond _period_."

Not just that, but he didn't want to admit aloud that he enjoyed being able to talk to someone just for the sake of talking to someone, not about things like work or _Saiyan this, Saiyan that, blah blah blah_. Just talk to someone that appreciated what he had to say, could dish out insults and amusing threats in equal to greater fervor than him.

Hell, he had no idea what nuclear fission or a _nimrod_ was before talking to Bulma. The Earth woman was full of surprises and even he could admit that he never got bored talking to her.

"Someone I thought I'd never see again, at least until Frieza decided to purge her planet."

Nappa grimaced but nodded nonetheless, apparently imagining that nightmare of a scenario.

"My brother is alive."

"He sure is, Vegeta."

"There are more Saiyans."

"Looks that way."

Vegeta stared up at the ceiling, watching Tarble follow the path of two Splendens weaving around each other. "Now all I need is to ascend."

Suddenly it didn't seem like some far-off dream, fortune had practically _thrown_ the little pieces of luck at him. And it all was centered around the insanely reckless woman coming back to them along with a sentimental Saiyan both now dressed in borrowed Heran clothing.

It occurred to him to make a snide comment about how the black shorts and midriff-baring top hardly covered any more than her so-called pajamas, but now wasn't the time; Nappa and Tyber were staring at him, making him realize his gaze lingered too long. "Tarble!" he barked out an order for his brother to come back down, who obliged readily. Vegeta took a deep breath.

Bulma took a deep breath. She reached out and touched Tyber's arm.

"Sensei?" Her voice sounded uncharacteristically timid. "You might want to sit down for this."

Tyber turned pale, his breathing increasing its pace. Nappa reached out and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder, providing some weight to ground the man as he sat down on one of the outcroppings. Vegeta could at least admit something positive about Tyber, he wasn't stupid, he could see the writing on the wall without them even saying anything; his eyes turned to Bulma with a look of horror and accusation. "Bulma. You told me it was a friend you were talking to on your scouter all the time."

"I know I did," Bulma replied, stepping over to join Tarble at Vegeta's side. "I wasn't lying. It's crazy how it all started, but…he _is_ my friend."

The entire world around them shattered, leaving nothing but the hapless five in their space of misery. Tyber looked between him and her. Them. No, it clearly didn't make sense in his mind. It had to have been a lie, he was rationalizing to himself as his eyes widened and he started shaking.

The prince could have mocked Tyber then, tell him that his demand that the Saiyans stay away from her was for nothing, they were drawn to each other even despite themselves. For once, Vegeta was inclined to take pity on someone and explained: "It's a bond, Tyber."

Somehow even more color was able to drain from his face, Bulma was shocked he managed to keep breathing right then and moved to sit next to him. She was stopped by Nappa holding up his hand, taking a seat next to Tyber, speaking to him in low tones. It wasn't like Bulma expected Tyber to be _happy_ about the whole thing, befriending a killer, but what she didn't expect was him to raise his head up and _stare_ directly at her and Tarble with hollow eyes.

"Move."

Tarble and Bulma looked at each other, then back to him in confusion.

"MOVE!" Tyber boomed, standing and shooting a lance of ki lightning at them—

No, not at them, at Vegeta. The force brushed the two of them aside like they were nothing, but it hit Vegeta in the chest, propelling him backwards into the ground skidding right out of the cavern.

—Or, was it the force of the blast…? Bulma thought she felt a hand pushing her away, too fast to be seen.

She had no time to dwell on that as Tyber shot out after his target in a show of unrestrained _wrath_.

"Oh, god…" she whispered, grasping onto Tarble's arm while they looked helplessly after the two battling Saiyans. "Tyber! Don't!"

"Let 'em fight it out, kid," Nappa gruffly said, left behind on his seat. "This is just how we do things."

Bulma wanted to protest, _Tarble_ even seemed he wanted to protest, yet she felt in her heart that Vegeta not only expected this but looked _forward_ to it and Tarble's instincts confirmed Nappa to be right.

Vegeta, on the other hand, was ecstatic— _finally,_ that coward was acting like a _real_ Saiyan! The shot actually cut through his armor and left a burn on his chest! Tyber was gloriously insane with fury and though it was absolutely futile to go up against an elite like him, he fortunately had a merciful prince that would allow him the privilege of a good fight before ending it. "What's the matter, officer?" he mocked, glancing off a jab to his face. "Got nothing to say to me?"

Nothing coherent came from him, nothing but lightning and a loud roar like thunder crashing down onto Vegeta.

In the distance he heard a woman scream—no, it was Bulma. He wasn't sure what she was screaming about, really, the ki attack only tickled and left his hair vaguely unkempt. Tyber, however, was spent like a burnt fuse—breathing heavily and still glaring with undeniable hate.

"Well, did you have fun?" Vegeta asked, advancing towards him with a condescending smirk. "Did you get it all out? Do you feel _better_?"

No answer, though the expression read that the prince could kindly go to Hell. Oh, he would eventually, Vegeta knew that. For now, he would end his fellow Saiyan's little temper tantrum with a knee to the gut, followed by an elbow to the back of his neck that sent him into the dirt with a satisfying crack.

He turned back to the mouth of the cave at a simultaneous call of his name and "Brother!"

"He's not dead," was all he said at first, mostly for Bulma's benefit—even though she would be able to sense that herself, he knew she tended to react before thinking.

Oddly, she went to _him_ first, straightening out his hair with concern and care as if that was her job. Her fingers combing through his hair felt peculiar but wonderful at the same time. _Why the hell is she worrying about me?_ Vegeta had no idea what to make of it, especially after he ruthlessly dispatched her teacher.

Bulma only smiled tenderly at him in return before turning away and helping Tarble lift Tyber from the ground.

 _Oh_. She knew there was no intent to kill, and she trusted him to follow through with that intent. She really shouldn't put so much trust in a monster like him, at the same time he selfishly enjoyed it and didn't want her to stop that. What a strange alien female she was.

"The Herans have a hideout not far from here," Vegeta announced, thoroughly stomping all over the moment as Nappa assisted Bulma and Tarble by lifting Tyber over his shoulder effortlessly. "I want to go there."

"It's not a hideout," Tarble corrected, frowning at him. Bulma wasn't certain if the expression was out of annoyance at what was done to Tyber or for his brother's brusque demands. "Vanishing Point is our home." He looked over at her with a weary sigh, "Gran will be able to take care of Tyber. I suppose I can't stop you if you follow us there."

"As long as you behave yourselves," Bulma added. "As it is, we're lucky Anaceo doesn't have a huge population to make a fuss about a bunch of aliens getting into a fight."

For all they knew, all of Anaceo's native population was just the ocean-dwellers.

"We'll follow," Vegeta insisted, turning from them to go back to his pod.

"Hey, can you look at my pod when we get there?" he heard Nappa ask Bulma as he went. "It's been making noises lately."

What a strange night.

 

* * *

 

 

Tyber seemed uncomfortable.

Honestly, that was an understatement, Tyber _always_ seemed uncomfortable. But having his scrapes attended to by Zurui while everyone sat in a circle in Yaba's room took the cake.

"I'm fine," he grumbled as Zurui dabbed at his face.

"No, you're not," she clipped back, tweaking his nose.

Bulma looked to the other Herans—Kua, Mugo, Utoma, and one of Zurui's sisters—all staring expectantly at Yaba in one instance, then moving their gaze to their two Saiyan visitors with apprehension.

"Hey, Bulmaaaa?" Zurui's sister—Neshi, the youngest one—drawled, turning a look to her. "Is this your boyfriend?" she asked, indicating Vegeta.

To which Bulma of course reacted reasonably by throwing the nearest solid object at Neshi. She didn't know what it was, there were quite a few things on the floor of Yaba's room, it could have been a bowling ball for all she knew.

"I thought we _were_ friends, Bulma," Vegeta—idiot that couldn't read the room—snarked. "Suddenly we're not?"

"I am _not_ talking about this with you!" she snapped, pointing at him.

"Boyfriend is different from friend, Vegeta, she asked if you were fucking," Nappa—oaf that wouldn't leave a topic alone—clarified bluntly.

Neshi squealed with laughter at the rosy blush that washed over the unhappy pair's faces, twisting one of her twin tails around her wrist. "You're so funny, Nappa!" She paused, draping over Kua's lap and staring over at Bulma again. Neshi tended to touch people frequently much like Bulma did, though the former tended to be more girlish in demeanor as she did. Bulma hadn't seen a girl so aggressively feminine since the times she attended her high school classes. (Not that it was bad, just mildly off-putting.) "Is that what T is mad about, Bulma? The red string?"

The other Herans in the room, apart from Yaba, stiffened. At their expressions of discomfort, Tyber sighed. Since awakening from the fight against Vegeta, he had been quiet, subdued almost, as if he had finally unleashed all his pent-up energy at once. "Gran," he huffed. "Please show us."

Yaba nodded, moving silvery curls from her face as she touched her fingers to the floor. The room darkened then, leaving only the occupants dimly lit. Bulma was not scared of the dark in any sense, things like that were for children, and from what she understood Saiyans could see well in the dark so it wouldn't effect Vegeta and Nappa. The only true light she saw then was a long string of color—bright red trailing from her chest to Vegeta's.

"You're tangled up quite thoroughly," Yaba said, indicating in a fluid motion of her hands how the single string was actually two braided together. "I can sever this, if you wish."

Sever? A cold shiver went through Bulma at the idea, Vegeta's expression didn't change as he idly stared down at the red string. He didn't seem to care, but he didn't say that he wanted it cut either. She considered if _she_ wanted the string cut. It would surely end any issue with no privacy. At the same time, was there any point to severing it? It wouldn't suddenly undo their time getting to know each other, their history, their mutual goals…none of that.

"It's not like we're betrothed or something," Bulma found herself saying, sending a shockwave of gasps through the group. "We're not obligated to each other in a way we don't choose ourselves."

Vegeta, the only one who didn't react, scoffed: "Right. There's no point in severing it, it's not going to make me go away."

"You're both absolutely right," Yaba said, bringing the room back to how it was and smiling. "While it is very unusual that this happened at all, a Saiyan bond doesn't mean anything _big_." She looked around the room, her gaze lingering on Vegeta for a moment. _Boy, it won't go away if you kill her either, you'll just feel empty_ , she warned him.

 _Mind your own business, crone!_ his thoughts snapped back. _Empty._ Please, spare him that sentimental rubbish.

"All right, Nappa," Bulma sighed, getting up from her seat on the floor and gesturing to the door. "Let's go check out what's with your ship, then."

"I'll come help in a moment," Zurui called after her as Nappa followed.

Vegeta was now alone with the Herans and Tyber.

Their staring was unsettling. From what Bulma told him the two oldest ones that were not the crone were Tyber's adoptive parents, the largest one his adoptive brother, the one fussing over him like a child his wife, and the annoying one his sister-in-law. That was way more information than he ever would have wanted to know about a bunch of worthless weaklings.

The coward's wife was the first to speak: "Well, thanks are in order, I guess."

_Thanks? You guess?_

His confusion must have shown on his expression as the mother sniffed, "Yes. Though I hate to see my boy get hurt as much as he was, he really hasn't been able to give a fight his all in a very long time."

Was that all? They didn't have to tell him, Vegeta had caught onto that quite easily himself. Did lesser lifeforms not understand Saiyans? Tyber was practically suffering most of his life having to practice restraint—him being quiet now and not interfering was a clear enough show of respect and gratitude. Lesser lifeforms devoted far too much time to _words_ and _feelings_.

"…Well," Vegeta tried to respond, figuring that if he was a guest to the Herans he _might_ as well try to communicate on their terms. "He's not weak. He should be proud of that."

As predicted, the Herans looked perplexed even though it was the _highest_ compliment an elite could bestow to someone like Tyber. At least the intended target understood, he nodded in return. Vegeta nodded back and stood to leave, pausing at the door. "I don't think it would be terrible to fight you again."

That statement probably confused the Herans more. Not that he cared. Tyber didn't respond by the time Vegeta had pushed the door open and left, though while he was making his way down the hall he heard a faint: "Thank you, your highness."

And he smirked in smug satisfaction. Damn right that third class should be thanking him. It was about time he was showed some proper respect.

It didn't even take an hour for Bulma to completely disassemble and reassemble Nappa's pod with Zurui working to make a new outer shell in tandem. According to her as she rapped her knuckles on the hull, Nappa had been given a pod with a shoddy type of alloy. He only shrugged and replied it was likely done on purpose, there was no love lost between Frieza's men and the Saiyans.

"I guess at least I can say nobody in the GP has tried to kill Tyber," Zurui commented as she welded.

The three kids, in the meanwhile, didn't have much of an idea of how to react to their Saiyan visitors. Celrey, of course, tried to fight Nappa but was met with being lifted by him in the air and flown around like she was a space ship, to which Namizu and Nori immediately demanded a turn. Vegeta remembered that Nappa used to love doing that to him when he was smaller, idly wondered for a moment how in the hell the older Saiyan had never spawned any brats himself.

"He's probably more of an 'other peoples' kids' kind of guy," Bulma answered, wiping off her hands with a worn rag as she came to sit next to him.

This was different, they realized. It was honestly the first couple of quiet minutes they had with just each other. Though Bulma would have figured Vegeta would want to catch up with Tarble more than whatever they were doing right now, he brushed it off.

"The quiet one you introduced me to, Broly? He seems to need to come to terms with Tarble pulling off a scheme like he did."

"Yeah," she admitted. "Broly and Tarble are pretty attached to each other. Broly calls him his big brother." She caught him smiling out of the corner of her eye and grinned back. "You know what's crazier? Broly's only 16, I mean _wow_."

He didn't look very surprised or impressed, Vegeta only shrugged. "Saiyans tended towards being large. The males, at least. Are Earth males not like that?"

Bulma grimaced, trying to imagine the likes of Roshi and Pilaf towering over her. "Uh…there isn't really an average for Earthlings, some of us can be tall, some of us can be short." She looked down at herself and added, "I guess a lot of fully-grown Earth women are the same size as me. Only in height, though, everything else is a bonus."

Vegeta, caught off-guard by her comment, sputtered and turned away from her. It wasn't like he _wanted_ to note the fact that she was indeed curvier than what Saiyan women he remembered, or than any vaguely humanoid alien he encountered. She just had to go bring it up like that!

_And don't smile at me like that, you vulgar woman!_

She made it worse by winking and patting him on the shoulder. "Chill, would you? I'm just kidding!"

Predictably, the Saiyan was in no mood for games and grabbed her wrist to pull it away from his person. Not as viciously as he would have before, however, the grip was light and slowly lowered their hands to the floor they were sitting on.

They stayed that way for a while in total silence, without realizing how close they were to an actual gesture of _holding hands_ for the gods-that-might-be-out-there's sake.

It was nice, Bulma thought. Too nice. It shouldn't even be happening.

And it wasn't. Or it wasn't _supposed_ to, they never should have even met. They should have never met again, they should have never become friends. They both knew this.

Vegeta shouldn't even be _touching_ someone without intent to hurt them. Somebody shouldn't be touching _him_ without intent to hurt, he thought. It wasn't natural but all the same—

"Hey," Bulma said after another while, leaning over to look at Vegeta. "Let me fix your armor. If you give me some time with it, I can fix the hole and even make your armor stronger."

He considered it for a moment, allowing her to admire and admit to herself that even though he was a pompous dick he had a pretty striking profile. She didn't know why _he_ had to go and have a crisis every time his thoughts pointed out that she was attractive since it was an indisputable fact that she _was_ , but Vegeta was quite regal with his mouth shut.

"I could say the same thing about you," he grumbled. "But fine. I'll allow it."

"Aw geez, your highness, I'm so flattered." She batted her eyelashes at him in an exaggerated show of girlish flirting.

Vegeta made a face, shaking his head. "Stop that, it doesn't suit you."

It felt weird to be addressed that way by her. He didn't like it.

Bulma, of course, figured he meant the batting and let it go, relaxing herself into their calm world of sitting together. "By the way…why Anaceo?"

"I thought you liked it there."

He said it in such a blasé tone, but Bulma was still taken aback by the gesture. Vegeta remembered that she liked Anaceo and—

"Besides, you said we should do it again sometime, didn't you?"

 _Oh god_. She looked away from him to hide the obvious blush that washed over her face. First Nappa had to outright _say_ that Neshi was asking if they were sleeping together, then this?! It was too much! Way too much! _I'd rather go fight Turles head-on than deal with this awkward shit anymore!_

"Speaking of Turles, haven't you tried the scouters yet to track him?" Vegeta broke into her embarrassed thoughts casually. "You can use mine or Nappa's if needed."

"…Oh my god!" Bulma cried, perking up instantly with all thoughts of embarrassments forgotten. "That's brilliant! You're a genius, Vegeta!"

"Of course, I am," he replied haughtily, smiling like a cat that ate the pet bird.

At least he was until Bulma crashed into him with a vicious hug and a storm of thanks. Vegeta knew he should have responded to the violation of his personal space with some harsh words and an equally harsh punishment for the foolish woman.

He ended up sputtering some more and freezing up instead, but she eventually let go and skipped off to retrieve Nappa's scouter anyway, leaving him in a state of total disarray.

Why did this have to happen to him. Why him? He was _the Prince of all Saiyans,_ dammit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile Raditz is on base like "where the fuck are they?"
> 
> Don't worry, he'll catch up.


	15. Repeat Offender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude where Raditz tries to take in all the craziness that has transpired thus far. Launch makes him something to eat. It goes about as well as one would expect.

After Bulma fixed Nappa's pod, the Saiyans left. It was the middle of September before they returned to Vanishing Point with their missing third man in tow. They found that Bulma had been working non-stop reprogramming the scouters she had to create a fully-fledged tracking terminal whose range she was working on little by little.

She had also further modified her own scouter to play _music_ , much to Vegeta's displeasure ("don't insult Mariya Takeuchi!" "I'll insult whomever I damn well please!"). It amused Nappa to watch them argue with each other over inconsequential things with neither backing down even if it was an ultimately pointless topic. Raditz found himself with his head spinning and unable to say much in reply to the strange alternate world that he ended up in, the one where Tarble was _alive_ and someone called Vegeta their friend. One where the Saiyans were regarded without fear so much as casual indifference. One where a woman could engineer something out of very little in _a night._ It just made no sense. It couldn't be possible.

(The part where Vegeta lied about actually manipulating Bulma the whole time ended up making the most sense, even if it led to the idea of him having a _friend_.)

The Namek was there, too, much to Raditz's displeasure. He acted as a teacher in meditation to the odd quiet Saiyan that also lived with the Herans. Mosto, to his credit, paid no attention to him, concentrating instead on his teaching which left Raditz to freely wonder about something that kept nagging at him without commentary.

_Where is she?_

The woman that flipped personalities with a sneeze and skewed towards being _nice_.

He wasn't sure why he noticed her absence, it was truthfully quite ridiculous how much he had been thinking about it. Perhaps it was due to Vegeta and Bulma's arguing getting on his nerves and him just wanting to talk to someone. Nappa had Tyber, Tarble mostly stuck with Vegeta or the odd Saiyan, and the odd Saiyan did little more than stare. The Herans unsettled him so acutely Raditz found himself clamming up whenever one was around and Bulma often ended up shooing him away claiming she was busy.

( _It certainly doesn't stop Vegeta from starting arguments with you, does it?_ )

Raditz, overall, was _bored._

He didn't have a clue how the woman was supposed to relieve that, really, but despite himself he was interested in continuing their clashing of views. It made him think even though he was angry about _how_ much it made him think at first, it was different, fascinating.

Plus, he would admit it, Raditz's Saiyan instincts urged him to have a go at dealing with the wild half of her personality.

He wanted to ask Bulma if and when Launch would stop by.

"Then _ask_ ," Mosto said with exasperation on their third visit.

Raditz, caught in the middle of eating breakfast at the table with the Herans and Saiyans, choked on the swine product in his mouth.

The other aliens stared at Raditz first, then at Mosto almost simultaneously.

"Uh…" Raditz coughed out. "Where—um, where's Bulma?"

(The Namekian rolled his eyes at the obvious lie.)

"She got up early to head to Earth," Vegeta answered, much to his surprise. "She said she called her father about retrieving Kakarot's pod, with the blueprints I gave her she insisted she can engineer a better ship and a gravity chamber for me."

 _You're quite the comfy cohort with her, aren't you?_ his rebellious thoughts responded while Raditz nodded, noticing for the first time that there was an empty space next to Vegeta. An empty space where presumably Bulma would sit with a plate set there piled with food. Raditz wouldn't point it out, nor was anyone in the room bold enough to say it, but he knew that Vegeta was the one who put the plate together to bring it to Bulma when she came back.

It was the routine they settled into: Bulma worked, Vegeta trained, Vegeta would stop to eat, Bulma would not, Vegeta would drag food to Bulma and mock her for forgetting to eat, they would fight. And so on, and so on, and _fucking so on_.

Raditz found himself confused about their dynamic and what their relationship truly was. Bulma called it a friendship while Vegeta called it an association, an alliance of convenience and nothing more than that. They were aware that no matter what either of them called it, there was a persistent link that refused to let the two part. The bond was _real_ , though it wasn't what legends defined it to be; there was no inherent destined attachment or even the implication of romance, but an aspect of Saiyan closeness and desire therein.

It didn't surprise him that Vegeta had psychic abilities as Saiyans did in the past, there had to be a reason he _thought_ so much even for a Saiyan, it didn't even surprise him that Bulma did. There was something quite _different_ and unusual about Earth women, how they read a person with a glance had to be something only granted by psychic power. Something was very unique about Earth women in general, Raditz noticed. Even without their bond he saw Bulma treat the mouthy prince with a gentle hand, tending to his scrapes and bumps and fussing over his health. He knew also Vegeta would have _never_ concerned himself with whether the other Saiyans ate consistently like he did with Bulma.

 _I wonder if she will come this time?_ Raditz's mind wandered back to the question of Launch.

"Raditz?" Nappa leaned over to get his attention, a look that could almost be interpreted as concern on his face. "What are ya thinkin' about?"

"N-nothing," he rasped in reply, thumping himself on the chest to work out the stuck bits in his throat. "I just—I just wanted to ask Bulma something."

 _Thankfully_ , they all left it at that, though Raditz did notice Vegeta giving him a suspicious side-glance before returning to his meal. _What? Are you jealous or something? Don't be, she's all yours._

For _what_ he didn't know, nor did he want to. He wasn't Nappa, after all.

"Are you and big sis friends?" one of Tyber's halfbreeds—the youngest girl—nagged at him after breakfast.

"She knows my brother," Raditz responded, pretending he was very interested in stretching before training so he wouldn't have to directly acknowledge the child.

"Oh, are you a big brother like Uncle Vegeta?" she pressed, looking abnormally delighted by the idea.

Raditz, meanwhile, choked at _Uncle Vegeta._

Vegeta himself only looked over with a weary expression, indicating that he probably told the girl many times he was _not_ her uncle but was ignored.

"That's right," Raditz said, plastering an insincere smile on his face. "My brother is named Kakarot—though your big sister calls him Goku."

Her face lit up, an unusual flush of _teal_ coming to her cheeks as she nodded excitedly. "Big sis told us about Goku! He's really cool and strong!"

Raditz paused in his stretching, smile turning genuine despite himself. He kneeled to be at level with the child, nodding back at her. "That's right, our father was strong, so Kakarot is strong too."

Vegeta scoffed from his corner of the room, rolling his eyes. "He's an idiot from what she's told me," he sneered. "Tarble is smarter."

"Ha!" Raditz turned a cocky grin to Vegeta. "Did _Tarble_ decimate a whole army with his bare hands? I think not!"

They proceeded to debate back and forth about who had the better little brother, for the first time in his years of knowing the prince it was like they were truly _relating_ to one another. Was that why he hated hearing about Kakarot? Because Tarble was gone? In retrospect, it was a little insensitive of Raditz to carry on about his own brother, he realized. He felt somewhat bad but reminded himself that was weak and Saiyans didn't do that.

The girl interrupted the debate with an outlandish comment: "I wonder if big sis is going to marry Goku? I was hoping she would marry Uncle Tarble, then she would be Auntie Bulma!"

"Tarble?!" Vegeta burst.

"Kakarot?!" Raditz sputtered at the same time.

"There is _no way_ I would let him marry her!" they proceeded to shout back at the girl simultaneously.

"…Oh, Uncle Vegeta, did you want to marry Bulma?" she asked candidly. "Or did you, Mr. Raditz?"

"No!" Raditz waved his hands in front of him, shaking his head insistently while Vegeta pressed his hand to his mouth and looked down at the floor away from them. "She's horrible, I would _never_ be with a woman like that!"

Vegeta snapped his head up to yell at him, "Tarble _and_ you are too meek for a woman like that!"

"Then _by all means_ , Vegeta, you can have her!" he retorted, forgetting that they were in the room with a small child.

Tarble took the moment to poke his head in and remind them they were existing in a space with other people that could hear them. "I couldn't marry Bulma, she's like a big sister to me. Besides, Namizu," he began with a perfectly innocent tone. "In the royal family, the youngest can't marry until the eldest does."

Raditz choked on air. Vegeta gaped at his little brother who only smirked at him in return.

"We should go now, Namizu, let's leave Brother and Raditz to their training," he said, taking Namizu by the arm and leading her out away from the stunned older Saiyans.

"… _That little SHIT,_ " Vegeta growled a good few moments after they left.

"What happened to him, he used to be so sweet," Raditz wondered.

It wouldn't be the first or last time that the Saiyans got overly inquisitive questions from the children. They seemed quite curious about the novelty of Saiyans besides the three already present on the mysterious planet. To be fair, Nappa and Raditz at least were struck by the novelty of associating with people for a long period of time without having to kill them.

Also Nappa seemed to enjoy playing with Tyber's kids out of nostalgia for when Vegeta was smaller. "I wish I hadn't lost those pictures," he laughed on the third time the son demanded to be thrown at lightning speeds. "Vegeta was the cutest baby!"

"Are you implying he's not still a baby?" Tyber sarcastically asked while he was sorting data files for the GP.

"Hey now, just because he's inexperienced doesn't mean he's a baby!"

"I will _kill you both!_ " Vegeta threatened until Tarble pushed him away from them to lead him…somewhere. Raditz wasn't sure where. He assumed it was some overdue Brotherly Moment that they needed to get out before they could proceed like normal. He pondered a great many things as Tyber's eldest daughter tugged at his hair trying to force it into a braid. He would have pushed her off if not for the quiet Saiyan being present and staring him down as if daring him to try anything against the child.

When was Bulma coming back, he wondered. Would she bring Launch? And most importantly, when was _he_ going to get his chance to meet with his brother? Why did Vegeta have to get everything first?

 

* * *

 

 

Vegeta always got what he wanted because he just did, that was how the natural order of things went.

His time on the planet had shown that nobody got that message. Yes, they were _polite_ and _pleasant_ , he had enough space and privacy to do as he pleased with no interruptions. But they didn't _fear_ him, which was bothersome, and close quarters with Bulma had proven to be _irritating_. She constantly challenged his demands, rolled her eyes at him, and criticized him for pushing himself while hypocritically working herself to exhaustion at the workbench. Not to mention her _annoying_ habit of wearing little clothing in a more casual setting—would it kill her to have some decency?! Her being defiant, of course, she pointed out that he was a hypocrite for wandering around without a shirt directly after training, and the cycle of arguing would start again.

"Brother, I think you start most of those arguments on purpose," Tarble flatly said as he was pulling him down the hall.

"And how the hell would you know that?" Vegeta grumbled back. "You're awfully perceptive about my business."

Tarble only hummed in return, directing the elder into his room. It struck Vegeta that it was his first time seeing living quarters that someone stayed in consistently—Tarble had shelves full of books and craft projects in various stages of completion on his desk. Where he directed him to, however, was his wardrobe which Tarble opened to retrieve a small, plain box from a compartment hidden on the floor.

"I'm not saying it's _bad_ ," Tarble said, holding the box with much care. "She's more energetic with you around, and you're less grouchy when she's around."

Vegeta scowled, not remotely liking the look of that box or his brother's words. What was that supposed to mean? If anything, he was more irritated when Bulma was around since she _insisted_ on defying him at every turn. He would be happier if she was more submissive, on her knees and begging to please him.

—He wasn't sure why his cheeks started burning at the idea. He huffed and turned away from Tarble. "And what's _that_ thing supposed to be?"

"Mother left it with me when I was exiled."

Vegeta's attention was caught immediately, odd images of a submissive Bulma sweeping out of his mind as he turned back to Tarble. "What?"

He had opened the box in the time Vegeta wasn't looking, revealing a pendant with a large round gem in the middle, symbolizing the moon. The royal crest.

Vegeta suddenly remembered that Mother's pendant was conspicuously absent after Tarble's "death." When asked she had told him he would understand when he was older.

He realized then that his hands were trembling as Tarble held out the pendant to him.

"…Why?"

"I want you to have it, Brother," Tarble said softly.

He shook his head in return, pushing away Tarble's hands and motioning to put the pendant back in the box. "I shouldn't, she gave it to you."

They both knew that the Queen's pendant belonged to the Queen of Saiyans alone, should Vegeta have been able to take a bride he would have given her that pendant.

But he wasn't. He wouldn't be. The kingdom, the royal family, they no longer existed. If Mother had given her pendant to Tarble, she must have _known_ in some way that this would happen. That they would end up on some invisible planet, hiding from Frieza among aliens.

"I see." Tarble, of course, graciously left it at that and didn't argue despite the inherent pain of realization the pendant brought to the brothers. "Not right now, then."

A quiet laugh puffed out from Vegeta as he shook his head, "Not right now? I'll _never_ have occasion for it." What kind of wedding gift would that be to a bride, anyway? An echo of a dead race and some royalty that perished ages ago, faint memories much like the residual light of the planet that Tarble showed him on his first night at Vanishing Point.

"What about when you kill Frieza?" his brother asked patiently.

"I am _not_ getting married," Vegeta ground out, tail lashing.

Tarble, much to his chagrin, got that devious look on his face again. "Then you won't mind me giving this to Bulma?"

Vegeta's tail lashing knocked some books from the shelves immediately behind him. " _Excuse me!?_ "

"Well, you said—"

"And _you_ said that you can't get married before me!" Vegeta snapped.

"Oh, that's just what I told Namizu to get her off the subject," he said dismissively. "I've also told her no less than several hundred times that I'm not even a prince anymore so none of that applies to me." He tilted his head at Vegeta with feigned curiosity. "Brother, I didn't say anything about it meaning intent to marry Bulma on my part, why did you jump to that?"

" _If you give it to her I will take it and smash it into pieces!_ " the elder boomed, causing the floor to shake slightly.

"Liar," Tarble retorted. "You wouldn't dare destroy something of Mother's, I remember you being a mama's boy."

"I was not a mama's boy!"

He wasn't even sure what they were arguing about anymore, the topic of the pendant remained forgotten and put out of the way much like its box being placed back into the wardrobe. By the time they had finished, the feel of Bulma's ki returning pinged at Vegeta's senses. "It took her long enough," he sighed with a roll of his eyes. He poked Tarble in the forehead, glaring at him seriously. "I do not _ever_ want to see that thing outside of its box again, do you understand me?"

"Fine, Vegeta, fine."

It would be safer hidden away was understood. Buried like everything else about their home planet.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma had brought more with her besides Kakarot's pod as she took _several_ different types of food from Earth out of her capsules specifically for the Saiyans. Nappa was delighted by the variety, nudging Raditz and telling him that it was better Kakarot didn't kill all the Earthlings after all.

Raditz wasn't looking at the food, though. He was looking at the answer to the question he was going to pose earlier.

Launch, however, was paying him no mind and gathering up ingredients to make something she called "fugu stew." The dark-haired version of her apparently enjoyed cooking and was delighted by the opportunity to cook for a large group of people. She whisked off to the kitchen before Raditz could think of something incendiary to get her to argue with him about morals again.

"Since I can't take you guys to Earth any time soon," Bulma was saying when Raditz tuned back in to what was going on around him. "I decided to bring as much Earth food as I could! There's plenty, so don't be shy."

"You could have brought Kakarot instead of food," he snarked at her.

"What, hell no, this is better," Nappa insisted.

"And I don't _know_ where Goku is, moron," she snapped back, shaking her head.

"You can track down a Saiyan you've never met, but you can't track down someone you claim to be your _best friend_?" Raditz mockingly intoned.

"Do you wanna _fight_ , Raditz?"

Raditz blinked, surprised at the sudden aggressiveness. "You're not serious. You couldn't fight me even if I tied my hands behind my back!" he puffed derisively.

It happened too quickly to realize how it ended up like that, the odd Saiyan stood up to menacingly stand between Bulma and Raditz.

"Oh, Broly, come on," Bulma groaned looking up at the odd Saiyan. "It's not serious at all, we're just talking shit."

Broly merely stood there, silently staring at Raditz with the vague aura of a threat of punishment if he went any closer to Bulma.

"She couldn't beat me, anyway," Raditz ran his mouth rather than taking advantage of the respite. "There's nothing to her except dressing like a prostitute and relying on technology."

A couple of things happened the moment Raditz said "like a prostitute." Bulma stood up, Broly tensed, it all seemed to go in slow motion as she charged forward that by the time he finished saying "relying on technology" Bulma had clocked him in the face, throwing him out of his chair. Raditz's world was spinning while Broly grabbed Bulma around the middle to hold her back, ki was sparking in her hands and she was screaming something about killing him. It felt like he was going through a thick mire of mud as he stood and charged an answering ki shot himself, _enraged_ that she dared to hit him and that it _hurt_ so damn much.

"I'm done with the stew!" Launch's voice hastily cut into the scene as she skipped out, immediately spooning some food into Raditz's open mouth. "Try some! It's a special delicacy on Earth!"

Frozen in place, all eyes turned to Launch as Raditz slowly swallowed the stew. "Err…" he stammered, awkwardly looking between Launch and the others in the room. "It's…it's good."

"I'm so glad!" She beamed at him, then paused with an exaggerated pondering expression. "Oh, gosh, though…I think that was the batch I forgot to remove the organs from."

Silence. Bulma paled. Broly looked confused. Nappa was taking handfuls of food and shoveling them into his mouth as he watched as if it was one of his plays and he had popcorn.

"Uh…what's the difference?"

"Well, you see, fugu is a _poisonous fish_ , so—"

Raditz's world went black before she finished speaking.

Darkness pervaded his senses for a while before he woke up again, in a bed with Launch sitting on a chair beside him. She was blonde now. Somehow, he was more surprised that Bulma and Vegeta were there staring at him.

"Wuvblbami?" he tried to mouth words and failed horribly.

"Looks like the antidote worked," Launch commented, looking up at the two. "Tell Gran she's fuckin' awesome."

Vegeta scoffed, "Raditz, you idiot. You know better than to pick fights with your superiors."

He was classifying _Bulma_ as his superior? How insulting!

Raditz worked his mouth around uncomfortably trying to clear out the cottony _dryness_ that filled it. He had no luck until Launch passed him a glass of water. "I spoke without thinking," he stated when he was able to speak again.

"But you're not going to apologize," Bulma finished for him, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I got it. I don't care. 'Like a prostitute' is nicer than what people three times your age have called me back home."

 _Three times?_ And she was _younger_ than him! Earthlings were _disgusting_!

"It was worth it, I got to bash in your stupid face," she continued with a snide grin.

Vegeta only nodded, turning to leave. Bulma left as well before Raditz could shoot back that the punch _didn't hurt_ at all, really it didn't.

Only he and Launch were left in the room.

"Well?" Launch demanded, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "What now, jerkoff? I ain't such a nice girl _now_ , am I?"

He automatically pushed himself back in the bed to scoot away from her as much as he could. Yes, she was definitely more brash and bad currently, but something about what she said spoke to a more sensitive side of him buried far down in his heart.

"Ya can't blow me off an' act like I'm just a stupid nice little girl now, can ya?" she growled, reaching out and grabbing him by the collar to pull him back.

Raditz blinked. "I don't think you're—"

Stupid. He didn't think she was stupid. If anything, he thought Launch was abnormally wise for someone at her age.

 _"You can't push me around and tell me 'nice girls don't do that' now!"_ she yelled pulling him _up_ with unnatural strength so their noses were touching. Apparently, Launch had not forgotten their conversation and ruminated on it enough to be angry about it.

She was too close. Far, far too close in his personal space. Something about her words struck him too closely as well, right in the chest as if she had shot him. In her eyes, Raditz didn't just see anger, he saw the bottomless pain of a woman that _had_ been taken advantage of by people like him. Not just people like him, people like him that had the authority over her to dictate how she acted in response, how she acted at all.

 _Being nice is a choice,_ she said. _I suppose your parents do decide that for you,_ she continued with a distant glance.

_Holy shit._

"But…you told me being nice is a choice," he ended up stammering, really unsure of how to act about being _that_ close to a woman.

"Yeah," Launch agreed with a bitter laugh, loosening her hold on him a little and sitting back to shake her head. "I _did_ , an' you said 'what happens when ya can't be nice anymore'—well, it's this!" She gestured at herself. " _I'm_ what happens! _I'm_ the bad girl your mom warned ya about! _I'm_ the girl that 'good girls' aren't supposed ta act like!"

 _Mother help me_. It was too much for him to cope with—he had supposed earlier that Earth women were psychic in their own way. The only explanation that made sense to him for the moment was that Launch's ability created a split right down the middle of her mind in response to outside influence, to cope with the abuse she endured as a 'nice girl.'

"And you asked me what happens when you can't be mean anymore," he began carefully, touching the wrist that still held onto his shirt collar. Not removing it, just holding onto it. Her eyes were boring so deeply into his, Raditz wasn't sure if he would even be able to break the gaze even if his life depended on it. "And you asked if I had a nice person to protect…"

He didn't. He was truthful when he said that. Raditz didn't protect things, and in all truth he was quite selfish and cowardly.

But Launch wasn't, he realized as he thought about it. She had enough courage to understand how terrible the world was but believe in being nice nonetheless. "…You've had to protect yourself this entire time." He understood then and felt a mysterious sense of freedom in his understanding. "So, you aren't really a 'bad' side, are you?"

Her gaze softened, grip loosened. She leaned her forehead against his with a sigh, "I've been tryin' to tell myself that." Heedless of the discomfort Raditz showed at their new position, she continued: "Bulma's been tellin' me too, but ya know—I just don't want to listen to my own heart." Launch broke off with a hollow laugh and sat back, running her fingers through her hair self-consciously.

As before, Raditz reached out and stayed her hand, shaking his head. "But you _are_ nice. You have a good heart all the way through. You protect your friends, too, right?"

"'Course I do!" she huffed defensively. "Whaddya think that stunt with the fugu was for?!"

Raditz's mind experienced a processing error at that moment. "You. You _poisoned_ me? On _purpose_?"

"Yeah, what of it, punk?" Launch scoffed. "If ya mess with Bulma, ya mess with me!" She firmly jabbed her thumb at herself in a gesture of determination.

_But she was in the 'nice' form when she did that!_

Raditz stared back at her in silent awe, half aware that he was still holding onto her hand, all astounded by what a complex creature the Earth woman was turning out to be.

"But I wasn't gonna let ya die, either," she assured him immediately.

And she didn't, Launch stayed by his side until he woke up, administered the antidote, took care of him…why?

"People are complicated," he managed to stumble into something to reply with. "Everyone…has different sides to them. And sometimes those are nice sides." Not everyone, though. He doubted any Saiyan (except his mother) ever had the potential to be nice. "…If your 'nice' half can be 'bad' for a good reason, and you can be 'nice' because you wanted to, I think you understand yourself much better than you believe."

Oh _god_ —what was happening to him!? He was standing around, _holding hands_ with some alien female, speaking sappy words of _encouragement_ to her! What in the universe was he doing? Raditz couldn't think around the noise of his heart hammering in his chest and Launch just staring at him. "What?!" he burst, snatching his hand away and scooting back in the bed. "Why are you looking at me like that?!"

Launch _laughed_ , eyes twinkling with an unfamiliar emotion as she looked at Raditz like he had just awkwardly asked her on a date. "You keep tellin' me and yerself that you're not nice, but here ya are bein' nice to me!"

 _Shit._ "I—it's just—"

She was _incredible_. Raditz could freely admit he didn't interact with many women without having to kill them, but he had never _ever_ met any woman like Launch in the whole wretched universe. There was so much to her he was discovering every second besides that she had physically manifested "good" and "bad" sides; her courage in protecting herself and her friends from an unfair world, her honesty, her kindness, her…cuteness. At the same time there was a vulnerability she had shown him without hesitance. A sharp mind that made him _think_ about his own beliefs and of her.

He…wanted to protect _her_. He wanted to be strong enough to protect her! But that was so _sentimental_ , warriors weren't sentimental!

There was only one way Raditz knew how to deal with an awkward situation of this caliber: get himself out of there as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, Launch was smarter and _quicker_ than should have been possible for an Earthling as she reached out and grabbed his tail, rendering Raditz helpless and wailing on the floor in pain.

(Nappa told him he shouldn't have skipped tail day, he _constantly_ told him that, but dammit Raditz didn't think it would ever end up like this!)

"Geez, big boy," she chuckled as Bulma ran back into the room to check what the yelling was about. "Could ya get anymore awkward?"

"Are you okay in here, Launch?" Bulma inquired worriedly to her friend.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good, just tellin' Raditz what I told you."

_Huh?!_

"Really…? Yeah, I guess that would make sense since he's the one that made you think about that. I can't believe _this_ guy of all people did, but if it helps you I can't complain."

"Hey, he _gets it_ , ya know? You may not be a sweet an' perfect angel but you're still a good person, B!"

Raditz was very lost about what was happening now, even while Bulma and Launch hefted him back up into the bed. His hair was a total mess, strands scattered around and hanging in his face. Launch pulled his hair back, removing her scarf from her hair and expertly tying the wild mane back.

"It's like your garter and arm band in your uniform, ya know?" she commented, looking him over. "Red's a good color on ya."

He opened his mouth to say. Something. He didn't quite know what, perhaps to defend himself that his thigh band _wasn't_ a garter. Maybe to thank her for taking care of him? He couldn't say anything, he only held up his hand and patted at the ponytail his hair had been pulled into. Frankly, the fact that the scarf was holding at all was a miracle.

Launch regarded him with an earnest smile. It made him feel funny. Like he wanted to smile back or do…something, something gentle. He felt warm, and fuzzy, and _strange_. Warriors didn't feel that way, did they?

Kakarot was a warrior, and he did. Presumably, if he had friends that he cared about. Perhaps warriors could choose whether they were good or bad…?

Could he? Could he choose to be the kind of warrior that was nice? What would his father think about that? What about Mother? He wanted to _ask them_. Why couldn't they have left the planet and hid out until it was over, too?

"Raditz?" Launch's voice interrupted his musings. When he snapped back to reality, Bulma had left and his unlikely company was watching him thoughtfully. "You an' Goku are brothers, I know that. What about your parents?" She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, chuffing out a quiet laugh as she did. "I mean, I think we got the point that my folks weren't that great—that's what growin' up in a shithole small town will do to ya—but what about yours?"

Got the point? No he didn't, Raditz didn't know _anything_ about Launch's parents or the "shithole small town" she grew up in, except that they enforced the idea of what a good girl did in a hypocritical way. "My parents…would have loved you," he said with genuine feeling. "And they wouldn't have cared if you were a good girl or a bad girl…they would have seen you for the person you are. They were…the best Saiyans that I knew."

"Tell me more," she encouraged him.

And he would, but not without getting his scouter first.

They left the room together, only somewhat aware that Launch had slipped her small hand into his and he really didn't mind it at all.

 

* * *

 

 

"Are you sure it's all right to leave your friend with Raditz like that?" Vegeta asked Bulma.

Bulma, waist-deep in the guts of Goku's dismantled pod, only waved her hand flippantly. "Yeah, Launch will be fine, she can take care of herself." She sincerely doubted that Raditz would be dumb enough to try anything untoward, she was definitely _not_ being dismissive of the whole thing because she had a new toy to experiment with. "So when I built the gravity room at HQ, Tyber and I put our heads together to figure out what features would be best for training. I think for yours, I can just go ahead and add all of those on except the AI."

"Why no AI?" he jeered. "Are you afraid of me messing up your copy's face?"

"First of all, weird that you would even go to _my_ AI clone first." She looked up at him with an ugly glower. "I mean, I already know how strong you are, you don't have to prove it by purposefully fighting something that you outclass."

"Your honesty is refreshing." Vegeta smirked, tail waving around with unspent energy. "And being outclassed certainly didn't stop you from punching Raditz and threatening to kill him."

She shrugged. "He pissed me off, what can I say. He was lucky I didn't have any of my guns with me, 'obliterate' would probably take care of him."

He had learned how to block out the link on his end, which was an honest relief to him; if Bulma was privy to his thoughts she would have to figure out how to cope with the oddity of Vegeta enjoying the whole business of her beating up and threatening Raditz more than he should. On the other hand, if he was privy to hers he would have to deal with the confusion of her more risqué dreams that he showed up in.

"But anyway, you would want something that's more challenging than AI opponents, right?" Bulma steered the conversation back to its proper topic. "I'm thinking battle droids."

The spark in Vegeta's eyes showed without him saying a thing that he approved. "And what if I had more ideas than that?"

"Tell me all about it, my friend."

He didn't balk when Bulma called him "friend" again. That was some kind of progress. It almost made her forget that once they both left Vanishing Point, there would be no more friendship.

"You'll be able to practically live in this thing when I'm done with it," Bulma bragged to take her mind off of the strangely lonely idea of life without Vegeta.

"You'd better remember to eat this time, I can't have my technician withering away because she was foolish enough to forget eating."

"Oh, shut up!" she snapped, throwing a wrench at him. (Of course, the smug asshole caught it, no harm done.) "Since when am I _your_ technician, anyway?"

"It's a privilege to serve the Prince of all Saiyans," he haughtily announced, raising his chin pridefully. "You should be honored."

"Whatever, _your highness_. Besides, you're one to talk with pushing yourself too hard!"

He scoffed, probably rolled his eyes though Bulma couldn't see him with her back turned. "You worry _far_ too much, insignificant abrasions won't topple me any time soon."

"You know, most guys would think they're lucky that a cute girl was worrying about their health."

"I'll let you know how I feel when that does happen, then."

 _Ohhhhh!_ He was deliberately baiting her into another argument! She couldn't work like this! Bulma, of course, felt the best course of action was to bodily lift the pod and walk away from Vegeta.

"Where are you going?" he called still with that smarmy tone.

"I'm going to where I can work in _peace_ without some annoying jerk bugging me!" she snarled over her shoulder, deciding that _flying_ away would be faster. Where Bulma settled would be peaceful, no Vegeta, no shitty commentary, no weird titles.

 _My technician_ echoed in her head as Bulma carefully set down the pod to resume working on it.

She didn't know why the addressing made her ears burn the way it did. Bulma Briefs wasn't anyone's _personal technician_ , what a ridiculous idea. Nor was she "my" _anything_ —she was Bulma fucking Briefs! She wasn't a possession!

Was it only September…? Ugh, Bulma needed to work faster. The sooner she got that annoying prick in the gravity room so she didn't have to deal with his smartass mouth, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up shorter this time, yeah. I figured it was better to post what I have than to force myself to elongate something I just wasn't feeling for the sake of padding. Next time on our madcap alternate universe adventure, September transitions into...December? For some reason. I don't think that's how time works, but then again this is temporal anomalies: the series.
> 
> Edit 9/8/18: Yes, King Vegeta had two family crests of different designs, according to me. You can't tell him he can't, he's the King of all Saiyans, and also dead as fuck.


	16. Irreconcilable Differences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And if you'll look this way, we have a bunch of stupid young adults that continue to struggle with feeling attachment to others!

By the time the days faded into the eleventh period of a Standard year, Vegeta had grown accustomed to his split life; for some he was Frieza's ruthless soldier, for others he was a respected warrior and prince. To a defiant and rebelliously _caring_ alien female, he was a friend. Friend and co-conspirator, he would add, but friendship was the title she assigned to it anyway.

The result of Bulma's mission to create a fully equipped gravity room combined with a functioning ship for him was some kind of masochistic Saiyan paradise. The few times she was ever obedient was when she took his ideas for further enhancing the project and outdid it. Not that he minded her taking it as an excuse to one-up him in that case, it benefitted him in the end. The fact that she built such a large ship out of Kakarot's small pod was a miracle in itself, true to her brag that when she finished Vegeta could practically live in it. With a regeneration tank and sleeping quarters installed on the ship, he would only have to leave for food if he really wanted to. He would never say it aloud lest people got the wrong idea, but he was impressed with Bulma's work. She was the most creative, ambitious, and intelligent alien he had encountered in ages.

And to think, it was all because of a stupid trip to Earth that shouldn't have happened in the first place.

Not that he would mention that to Bulma, either. She didn't need to hear that she was a genius, she would remind him even without prompting. Then they would get into an argument and she would get angry and flushed, which was always _hilarious._

Not that he would say _that_ either, Nappa and Tarble already teased him enough about some imagined attraction they had _made up_ any time he said something positive (in his backhanded way) about her. Couldn't a Saiyan appreciate the irony of another Saiyan being violently taken down by the same alien twice in a lifetime? Her clashes with Raditz were another point of amusement for Vegeta, especially when beforehand Raditz would say something tough or incendiary to Bulma. She had ended up not only punching him in the jaw again a couple of times, once Vegeta found her on Raditz's back strangling him with his own hair (how does one even _do that_ ). It was some of the best entertainment in the galaxy watching them fight.

Despite enjoying Raditz's abuse at the hands of Bulma, Vegeta did find that the other Saiyan was becoming less and less irritating to him as the days went on. Perhaps it was something about Nappa and Tarble teasing him constantly while Raditz shrugged and wrote it off as none of his business _whatever_ was going on in Vegeta's social life.

Or "romance" he supposed, Tarble used the word "love" an abnormal amount. While it would be amusing that his brother enthusiastically grasped the concept of something that mystified Vegeta to even hear about, something about the conversation planted anxiety in his chest. That dreadful hollow in his chest was _anticipation_ of when everything would fall down, constantly nagging at him that whatever it was would be _gone_ soon. Especially if Frieza found out. _God forbid_ Frieza found out before Vegeta was ready to take him on. The thought of the despicable lizard getting his hands on—on— _all right that's enough of that shit._ Vegeta turned on his heel as he walked past the food preparation room to the eating room, catching sight of the large Heran making something Bulma introduced him to called _pancakes._ They were odd, fluffy discs of cooked batter that a kind of syrup was slathered on, the apparent appeal was that pancakes could have anything put _on_ or _in_ them.

Vegeta generally didn't care about festooning what he was eating and just ate them plain. There was a novelty with seeing them made and the sorts of things the large Heran put in them out of the arsenal of Earth food the woman brought. The types of syrups he would concoct, as well, were more interesting than they had any right to be. (Tyber, of course, flatly told him no alcohol was to be added to any syrups, no exceptions.)

"Oi, mornin' 'Geta!" the Heran called, waving at him as he skillfully flipped a batch of strawberry pancakes.

 _'Geta._ Vegeta, naturally, gave him the usual Saiyan greeting of baring his teeth in disgust at the overbearing friendliness.

"Ha! T gets that look in the mornin' too, before he's had his caffeine. G'head and tuck in, lad, there's breakfast on the table already!" he chortled, further irritating Vegeta by disregarding the obvious threat.

 _Ugh. T._ All the adult Herans called Tyber that, it was positively nauseating. That Heran also called Bulma _lil Blue_ (as if she was exceptional compared to all the blue-skinned freaks?!) and had been quick with establishing nicknames for all three Saiyans. Some days Vegeta was _'Geta_ , the next he would be _Geets_ , and if he was being very impudent Vegeta would hear _princey_ out of that man. _Ugh_. At what point did he ever agree to having a whole arsenal of nicknames slung at him by a man that never _wore a goddamned shirt?_

Then again, considering he would get "my dear" from Frieza and "lil Veggie" from the Ginyu Force, being called "princey" was at least accurate to his title. And the food provided from the Herans (and Bulma by extension) was much better than what the slop the bases provided was like. Since Kua _insisted_ , he would help himself to a generous stack regardless of what was in it and have breakfast before starting his training for the day.

It couldn't have been all that early in the morning, he thought while looking around the empty room. He would have expected Tyber's brats to be chattering like idiots and pouring as much of that substance called powdered sugar on their breakfast as they could. No, only the crone and the annoying Heran woman were present. The elder Heran wasn't eating, however, she was going through a whole line of teacups and drinking them one by one. He wasn't sure if it was morbid fascination or spacewreck syndrome that drew his eye to the crone's progress, the annoying one seemed to be watching her avidly.

"Well, Gran?" she prodded. "What do you see today?"

 _Empty cups?_ Vegeta wanted to say but kept quiet since he didn't want to talk to _anybody_ , let alone that prying shrew.

"Suffering, pain, death," the hag went down the line of empty cups, looking into them with a critical eye.

"Aww, again?" she whined. "Why's it never love?"

(Ugh, what was everyone's _obsession_ with that?)

"That's part of life, Neshi," the elder laughed. "Let's see…oh, Vegeta, you're going to visit a friend that promised you something when you were a boy."

Vegeta paused in his chewing, giving a hard stare to the women. "I've told you to mind your own business, crone."

"Awww, 'Geta, don't be such a grump!" Neshi insisted, puffing out her cheeks in a childish pout. "You're lucky that you got a fortune from Gran!"

He sneered in disgust, going back to eating. Luck. That was rich. Luck when the universe had done nothing but shit all over the cosmic joke that was his life.

"Is it luck?" Yaba (as if he'd ever call some stranger _Gran_ ) unexpectedly spoke his thoughts for him. "I suppose I should tell Bulma about the suffering that's ahead for her."

The echo of a pin dropping could have been heard in the room then.

"And pain," she continued as if the two weren't disturbed enough by the statement. "And death. And…ah, not caused by you, Vegeta. Dearie why are you so pale?"

Vegeta stood up abruptly from his chair and left, not even bothering to clear his plate as he bolted to the gravity room.

 _Suffering, pain, death, Bulma_ repeated in his mind while he strode up the ramp, not even realizing that someone else was in the control room until he crashed into a solid figure.

"Oh. Good morning, Prince Vegeta."

 _Oh wonderful._ It was Tyber. Of all the times he could have picked to poke around _Vegeta's goddamned property_ it had to be _that_ time. Whatever that _caffeine_ stuff was his ridiculous "brother" said he needed in the morning was evidently already loaded into his system since the older Saiyan only watched Vegeta with docile inquisitiveness. "Sorry for the intrusion," Tyber said, standing aside so he could access the control panel. "I'll be on my way."

Come to think of it, where the hell did Tyber come from? He _and_ that Broly were two Saiyans of unknown origin raised by aliens and adopted his own brother as one of them. (He wouldn't admit it, but it burned him to hear Tarble call _them_ his brothers.) Broly was described as having fits of rage in which a frightening power was unleashed in him, but that was handled by the Namek and his meditation lessons, plus a nauseating amount of _positive encouragement_ from everyone around him. (Vegeta would call that coddling and say he should just stay mad.) Tyber _restrained_ himself, constantly, Bulma had told him about the limiting bands that had been placed on him before during their training. The only time he had fought seriously was when he became angry enough to crave destroying ( _like a Saiyan **should**_ ). It just so happened that what he wanted to destroy was Vegeta, but at least he still had the instinct. He wondered if he taunted Tyber enough about being _tame_ and whatever else bothered him, that killing intent would come out again.

No, he wasn't interested in doing that. Tyber likely hated him enough to go all out no matter _what_ he said.

"Hold on."

Tyber turned back to Vegeta, posture straight and hands folded behind his back. "Yes, your highness?"

He really should tell the man that he didn't _have_ to use his title, but Vegeta supposed it was a habit from referring to the Galactic King by formal titles and left it be. Dealing with a Saiyan that was obedient and disciplined did feel satisfactory in its own way, even if he was under no illusion that Tyber felt anything but disdain while doing it.

It struck him that, for once, they were able to speak with no outside interference. No Herans, no half-breeds, no Saiyans, no Earth women, just them. When he thought about it, he realized he had no idea what he wanted to ask Tyber, or at least what to ask him first and if the rest was important enough to be inquired about. He considered asking about the crone and her peculiar ritual at breakfast but decided that would have been giving more credence to nonsense like her supposed predictions than it deserved. (And he still had to examine why the idea of _suffering-pain-death_ in Bulma's future disturbed him even _before_ Yaba stated it wouldn't come from him.) Tyber's origins would only bring the reaction of the other Saiyan closing himself off and fleeing, never mind anything about Broly; Bulma was quick to remind him that _everyone_ kept secrets from her and how irritating it was.

No, there was something more beneficial to the important things: Vegeta and Vegeta's training. He wasn't above asking to be instructed on new techniques, though his greatest strength was learning by observation, studying his opponents, and predicting their moves. And a lot of anger, a good healthy dose of rage benefited any Saiyan. "Your ki is different from other opponents," he began in a stern, official tone. "And I've seen Bulma use it like that, too. I assume you taught her."

Shocking Vegeta more than expected, Tyber shook his head. His impassive expression betrayed nothing as he answered, "She never asked me. She observed and taught herself."

That made sense when he considered it, though the Earth woman boasted _quite a lot_ about her intelligence she wasn't lying or exaggerating when she did. Scientists observed, hypothesized, experimented, and retooled in reaction to the results until the desired effect was achieved. Of course she would dedicate the same model to fight _smarter_ as opposed to harder by reversing an enemy's own move on them. Bulma could claim she was civilized, and fighting wasn't her first instinct all she liked but if she had been born a Saiyan she would be a formidable one indeed.

And now he had to push out thoughts related to absurd "what if" scenarios, curse it all!

"Why didn't she ask? I would have thought she'd constantly babble at you about teaching her."

"Bulma loathed me and I didn't think much of her," Tyber responded bluntly, further surprising Vegeta that day.

Bulma? _Bulma Briefs_ , his technician? The frivolous and vulgar Earth woman that called an evil bastard like _him_ a friend, hating someone on the "good guy" side? It didn't sound possible to him. Not to mention Tyber's feelings, he would have thought the Patrol would unconditionally welcome her with open arms as nauseating as that image was.

Seeming to read the prince's expression, he continued: "I thought nothing of her except that she was an immature child seeking adventure."

There was more to it, surely. It couldn't have been only that. (He called her a _child_ , at that.)

But it was none of Vegeta's business or concern in the end as he inquired, "Then what happened?"

"She copied and knocked me down with my own technique out of spite."

Vegeta snorted. Tyber smiled. Not at _him_ of course, at the memory of Bulma's triumph.

The moment passed quickly, however, and the smile faded back into his characteristic suspicion. "You want me to show you," Tyber stated. Not a question, he understood the intention quite well.

(Again, Vegeta would give him points for being a rare Saiyan that wasn't _stupid._ )

"You don't trust me," Vegeta acknowledged the Elephas in the room, not out of insecurity or dismay that one of his own people didn't trust him, but acceptance.

  _Of course_ Tyber shouldn't trust him, and he confirmed not being as naive as his student by nodding with no hesitance. "I don't know what Bulma sees in you that she would call you a friend. That she would care so much for your well-being."

( _You're not the only one._ )

"…And I don't know what your aim is now," he continued, lips slowly peeling back to show the hint of sharp teeth. "However, I trust her."

Vegeta's eyebrows raised, bypassing the threat display entirely and waiting for the older Saiyan to explain what he meant.

"Though you both are very young, your experience has surely been more horrific than hers."

(Was that a hint of sympathy he heard?)

"Yet still, she is a brilliant young woman, not a child. I trust that if you should betray her, go back on whatever arrangement you have, harm her—whatever—she will _end_ you."

The steely tone shouldn't have made his tail bristle, but dammit that combined with the _abnormally_ intense gaze that was this man's alone _did_ and he resented it. "She has promised me that, yes," he shortly replied. "She's more like a Saiyan than she realizes." Vegeta wasn't certain why he added that bit—perhaps speaking a compliment? After all, Saiyans were superior beings.

Tyber nodded. "Yes. But she has a heart." He said nothing more on the topic after _that_ cryptic statement. "Your highness, was that all?"

"You don't have to call me that," Vegeta grumbled finally, shaking his head in exasperation. "It clearly makes you sick. And yes, show me how you do the lightning now."

Tyber looked down at him (only because of their height difference) with an unblinking stare.

( _He looks **exhausted**. Is the Patrol really devoting so much time to tracking that Turles?_ )

"Fine…Vegeta."

 

* * *

 

 

Raditz had more responsibility put on him than he would have expected while they stayed at Vanishing Point. It didn't bother him, he wasn't one to shirk duties, it was just that keeping Bulma awake was _quite_ a heavy task indeed. The clearest sign to her nodding off was the quiet lasting for longer than a minute, he would try to get her attention, confirm that she had fallen asleep, then nudge her awake. Bulma would be annoyed at first, but ultimately was grateful for Raditz's assistance.

Gratitude, now _that_ was a new concept for him. The Earthlings and residents of Vanishing Point said "thank you" like it was the only words they were ever taught. It was…creepy? Maybe not creepy, but off-putting. Very distracting with how—how— _genial_ everyone was. _Especially_ the Earth woman, Launch would come by with a cup of what they called "coffee" and give it to Bulma, then she would sit with him and watch her friend go over blueprints for the umpteenth time.

Bulma had already fixed the damage to Vegeta's armor and replicated a stronger version altogether. She even made some for Raditz and Nappa. Since then she turned her focus to the materials of their bodysuits and improving those.

Well, _Vegeta's_ anyway, Raditz and Nappa went…light. Which was discovered immediately with raised eyebrows from Bulma, blushing from Blue Launch, and shrugs from the two Saiyans.

"You guys have never considered that might chafe?" Bulma commented. "Or wearing pants?"

"Nah," Nappa wrote it off and immediately left the room.

Raditz didn't answer as he was avoiding Launch's gaze occasionally flicking over to him. He hoped she wasn't thinking what he _thought_ she might have been, not because it wasn't what nice girls did or whatever bullshit the Podunk people she came from told her, but because he would have no clue how to respond to such an idea.

The _vulgar woman_ assured Launch that if she wanted to breach the unknown and sleep with an alien, she wouldn't judge. "Hell, Goku would probably love having you as a sister," she teased, beaming shamelessly at her blushing friend.

"All right, that's enough!" Raditz cut in, not giving the idea that he was technically coming to someone's defense _and_ that Bulma had clearly established she could knock him down without a second thought. "Just because _you're_ a vulgar woman doesn't mean you can tease Launch!"

For the fifth time that day, Launch smiled at him shyly. He thought that was her expressing gratitude without words, but he was finding her actions difficult to interpret. It still felt funny to be looked at that way.

Bulma only sighed rather than hitting him again, rubbing her eyes and turning back to the puzzle of her blueprints. "That's not very nice," she mumbled, possibly delirious from the lack of sleep. "Yamcha…he didn't want…" she trailed off, Raditz was unclear on if she fell asleep or abruptly became aware of what she was saying and felt ashamed. Her head lowered, and she was still.

The silence in the room thereafter was palpable.

Raditz wasn't sure how to react to… _possibly_ having hurt someone's feelings? Who the hell was Yamcha anyway? _What_ was even a Yamcha? As if the situation wasn't awkward enough, Vegeta announced he was there the whole time by curtly ordering Raditz out of the room. Of course, he would have left anyway, not just for the awkward of the whole thing but for the fact that whenever _those_ two were together a fight would start.

Launch followed him, holding onto his arm and looking back with concern. "You should apologize," she insisted with a pleading expression.

"Why?" he blurted out, genuinely curious as to why Bulma's virtue ( _or lack thereof?_ ) was his problem. "She started it."

" _Started_ it?" Launch frowned, the kind of frown that created a little crease between her eyebrows, the kind of frown that showed she was truly _annoyed_. "She was only teasing! I didn't mind."

"Because you're friends or because she was right?" Raditz opened his big mouth again despite knowing quite well that his mouth always got him into trouble.

 _Oh. Oh shit._ Launch staring at him, eyes wide, _blushing—oh shit oh shit OH SHIT! **Run.**_

And he did, bolting as fast as he could out of the nearest window to the farthest part of the planet. _I'm such an idiot!!_ his thoughts howled. _Women! I just can't deal with women!_

He _could_ dunk himself in the ocean until it stopped feeling so goddamned _warm_ at least. Do that for a few…hours, then go back.

(Take off the scarf Launch gave him first, so it wouldn't get ruined.)

Great. Fantastic. At least he wouldn't have to hear Bulma and Vegeta arguing.

 _Does he really think that…?_ a faint and _familiar_ voice echoed in his head. _I'm—I'm not that kind of girl…_

_Launch?!_

Oh… _oh shit._

In the distance, back at the Heran household, a scream of agony could be heard from Raditz. Nappa looked up from where he was sitting while having a midday drink with Kua, wondering to himself if that was something he would have to deal with.

Later, he decided, and went back to his drink.

"I tell ya, guys," he addressed Kua and Tyber who had now joined them. "These kids get into shit faster than I can keep up with."

Tyber nodded (he looked so exhausted even _without_ his dad duties), Kua poured Nappa another drink and added: "It ain't gonna get any better, Pappy. 'Specially when your boys stop pretendin' their dicks don't exist. –Oh, come on, T, don't be like that, you know it's true."

Tyber's eyes had closed while Kua was speaking and he was sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I never asked to experience hormonal kids so soon," he mumbled with absolute weariness in his voice.

Nappa patted him on the shoulder while Kua poured a drink for him. "None of us did, pal," the older Saiyan pointed out. "They're way too old for this shit and not at the same time. I'm pretty sure Vegeta's gonna make me lose what's left of my hair." He ran his fingers over his mustache with some apprehension. "Definitely."

 

* * *

 

 

If Vegeta had come to Bulma expecting a fight, he was to be disappointed. With both Raditz and Launch gone, she only blinked blearily at him while he rattled off something about short-circuiting the bots _somehow_ and wanting them fixed immediately. To tell the truth, with her vision and hearing being as muddled as it was Bulma would have thought she was submerged in water rather than just extremely tired.

Vegeta, of course, realized right away that she was 1. Staring at him like he was a total stranger, 2. Gradually slumping over, and 3—"You look ghastly enough to scare Frieza."

Though Bulma hadn't observed what the effects of her burning the midnight oil had done to her physical appearance, her skin had grown paler than it usually was. The dark circles under her eyes stood stark against her almost translucent face, no spark in her eyes as they regarded him with dull confusion. "Even at my worst, I still look better than you," she mumbled, voice thick with fatigue.

He was annoyed at the swell of _relief_ that came from the sign she still had the wherewithal to insult him. Perhaps if he prodded more the _real_ Bulma would finally come out to play. "And why are you looking over those blueprints? You already worked on my armor—you're just wasting time now, aren't you?"

Again, she gave him that bewildered expression like she had never seen him before in her entire life. Vegeta _really_ didn't like that look, not only was it blatantly disrespectful to someone of his status, it evoked a whole messy array of unidentifiable feelings he disliked all the more.

"Mmm…" Bulma's eyelids fell closed, she mumbled something about the bodysuit not being perfect yet and was silent thereafter.

Vegeta waited to see if she would say anything else before trying to get her attention, "Woman?"

No response.

"…Bulma!" He hoisted her up by the shoulders, considered shaking her for a second until he realized she had fully fallen asleep. Nothing more than dead weight.

Dead weight whose head had fallen against his shoulder, warm breath puffing against his neck, and whose improbably _nice_ smell had started to hit his nose.

 _Fuuuuck—_ what now?! It was strange and new, and he wasn't sure if he hated it or liked it in some _unfathomable_ way. As if to add to the list of "things going wrong for Vegeta today", his _tail_ wrapped around her waist firmly and brought their pelvises flush eliciting a gasp of shock from Vegeta. _Goddammit!_ Fucking tail! How dare it act without his consent?! Such a gesture was _wholly inappropriate!_   He needed to think of a plan to get _out_ of the situation without Bulma waking up and without anyone seeing them (as if he needed _her_ or some interloper witnessing it and getting the wrong idea! _Especially with his fucking rebellious tail._ )

At least he needed to think of _something_ besides how pleasant and _right_ it felt; _definitely_ don't acknowledge how perfectly she fit against him and if it was like this all the time, it wouldn't be _so_ bad.

Vegeta did, however, think that it wasn't fair he went through his teen years not experiencing oddities like _this_ only to have it literally fall on him in his adulthood. Then again, there were the kissing dreams. Those were Bulma's fault, too, that cursed woman! The proud Prince of all Saiyans lamented that she was still too useful to be discarded yet as he _carefully_ lifted her into his arms and looked for a place to set her down.

He didn't _do_ careful, how dare the troublesome female force that on him!

Thankfully the gods that probably didn't exist but would certainly be laughing at him if they did shed some mercy on him and a couch was found. Bulma didn't stir once as Vegeta placed her on the cushions with all the gentleness of handling glass, but her peaceful expression did flicker into a smile for a moment.

And she stayed quiet, which was good because usually she sprawled and made abnormal sounds in her sleep. She would probably start that again eventually, nonetheless he found himself lingering to consider how different she was with her mouth _shut_ and in a peaceful state. After Bulma completed the gravity project for him, she threw herself into the Turles mission day and night, barely acknowledging when the Saiyans would come and go. The only thing that would pull her from the workbench was Vegeta bringing a complaint about some malfunction (caused by him) in the machine or if she noticed an injury on him. How she would fuss over the most minor of cuts was completely ridiculous, she knew Saiyans were tougher than simple scrapes, yet at the same time he really didn't mind the tender care Bulma employed. She was an enigma of contradictions, that woman; brilliant but foolish, shrewd but trusting, fiery but kind, bold but meek—it was infuriating and not so terrible all at once. Things had changed when she came into his life the first and the second time, and they would likely continue to change. Something about that was frightening but exciting, like a feeling of adventure and…freedom he hadn't felt in a long time.

 _Not free yet,_ he grounded himself back into reality. Vegeta couldn't enjoy freedom until he had killed Frieza, and Bulma… _pain, suffering, death_ still echoed in his head. Not caused by him, which left a contradiction of comfort and annoyance, but mostly the dread of _whom_ or _what_ it was that would lead her to that grim future. _Frieza?_ His expression darkened as the image of Frieza running his fingers through Bulma's uniquely colored hair, cooing honeyed poison like _"lovely dear"_ and _"my pet"_ came to mind immediately.

 _That's enough. That won't happen_ , the prince concluded, turning on his heel and going to leave Bulma in peace—

—But then realized his _fucking tail_ was still around her waist.

 _Dammit!_ he grumbled to himself about the needy thing being disobedient as he pulled it away from Bulma and left before any other disasters could occur.

…Like her goddamned scent being stuck in his nose and Tarble in the next room.

Tarble looked up at him from his reading tablet and smiled whilst Vegeta frantically pushed the thoughts of strawberries and vanilla out of his mind. ( _Of course, she likes the stupid strawberries so much, **of course** she'd douse their scent all over her!_ ) Tarble was saying something to Vegeta as he thought stupidly that he knew those scents and flavors very well now. ( _They're not so bad for sweet things, though Bulma gives me the oddest looks when I eat them—what do you mean you're not supposed to eat the strawberry whole?_ ) The younger prince canted his head at him with a frown and said something again, Vegeta mentally imploded around the concepts of _flavors_ and _her_ in the same thought.

Finally: " _Brother_!"

"Shhhh!" Vegeta hissed on impulse. "She's asleep in there! Idiot!"

Tarble blinked at him in clear confusion. "Yes…yes, Vegeta, I knew that." He tilted his head the other way, brow furrowing in deeper bewilderment. "Are you feeling all right, Brother?"

It was a reasonable and considerate thing to say, which was exactly why Vegeta snapped back: "Mind your own business!"

"Um…okay, then." Tarble wasn't interested in minding his own business in any respect despite the direct command, however, and tried again: "I was wondering, are you going to keep coming here?"

Vegeta raised an eyebrow at the question. "What do you mean, of course I'll keep coming here." Even if the gravity chamber wasn't there, Tarble was, not that he would tell _him_ that.

"Well, I mean…while Bulma is gone."

… _What._

"What." Vegeta stared down at his brother with a cool but a breaking-point-to-absolutely-livid expression. "What do you mean. Where is she going." The calm flat tone sounded strange to his own ears, Tarble seemed more frightened by it than any yelling that could come from Vegeta.

"Um…she's—she's talked about going to Orui…something about wanting a second opinion on materials in making something for you?"

"Is that right." The issue of the suit not being to her liking bothered her _that_ much? Oh no, that wouldn't do, no way in hell was that going to happen, he wouldn't let her go _anywhere_ while he still had need of her technician skills.

"B-Brother," Tarble bravely tried to reason with him. "You know she's doing it for you, she—"

"She's _not_ ," he denied with a slash of his hand through the air between them. "She just knows I'm the best choice for destroying—"

Something clouded into Tarble's eyes then—fury, exasperation? Whatever it was, he slammed his hands on the table and cried, "Yes she _is_ , Vegeta!"

The emphatic expression took him aback, literally and figuratively as Vegeta took a step back, eyes wide and staring at his suddenly _very_ assertive little brother.

" _You_ know that," he continued quietly, now on his feet and stepping _much_ too close into Vegeta's personal space (and into his methods for intimidation). " _You know that_ —you can lie to yourself as much as you want about not having a heart, but don't you _ever_ deny that she wants to help you. Bulma _trusts_ you, you're her friend. Stop being such a fucking _child_ about this!"

Vegeta's mind reeled through a myriad of responses and thoughts after that horrifying takedown. First, who taught Tarble to swear. Why couldn't it have been him? His brother had never won a physical fight against him, but he always knew how to speak directly to Vegeta's—ugh— _feelings,_ and now the little shit cracked open the true reason behind his—what? Anger? Dismay? Concern? _Whatever_ he was feeling about Bulma going somewhere alone while the words _suffering-pain-death_ circled around in his head. He couldn't say a damn thing in return to shoot down the statement.

Mercifully, Nappa poked his head in to say that lunch was ready and ask if they had seen Raditz. Vegeta immediately turned tail to head to the eating room while Tarble explained that he was at the ocean for some reason.

**_Who cares._ ** _I don't! I don't care about her!—Or Raditz!_

He did care a little _why_ Raditz came back smelling like saltwater and muttering to himself, but that could be easily ignored while he forked some food onto his plate. It was a full table now, Herans and Saiyans alike chattering away and (most importantly) _not_ talking to him. The only ones not speaking were the crone and the Namek, drinking tea and water respectively.

The quiet from them prompted a feeling of dread in his chest, like anticipation before a storm. He almost wanted to shout at them to speak up already. But that would create a scene and there were much better things to cause a scene over than two aliens being quiet.

Yaba turned those unnerving milky blue eyes to him and smiled, pressing more grotesque wrinkles into her face. She must have been saving whatever she was thinking for a better opportunity to humiliate him as she looked away and the Namek spoke instead, "Broly. Ask him already, don't be shy."

Broly, from Vegeta's left, jolted—tail sticking straight out, and head bowed.

"Broly," the Namek pressed. " _Ask him_."

"Yes, Broly," Vegeta butted into the conversation, eyebrow twitching in irritation at the circus of bullshit going on around him. " _Ask_."

Broly raised his head, a helpless expression of horror on his face as he mouthed nothing like a gilled creature out of water. While usually Vegeta would be amused at someone being intimidated by his obvious superiority, he wasn't feeling inclined towards good humor then. The Namek canted his head meaningfully towards the anxious Saiyan, probably giving him sentimental words of encouragement via telepathy that Vegeta would gag at if he was forced to listen.

Vegeta's (already almost see-through) patience grew thinner, his thoughts wandered to how he was going to keep Bulma from going to Orui or—really—keep her from going anywhere that might lead to suffering-pain-death. (The kind that _wasn't_ caused by him, he would hasten to add.) His lack of attention must have shown on his expression as Broly's scowl deepened, yet he still didn't speak. Vegeta only stared back at him, disengaging even more in response to the annoyance. He wondered if tying her down would work, there _were_ those ki bonds he had been developing. Yes, bound to her bed, that would keep her from making any foolish moves.

"I wanted to ask if you would allow me to train with you!" Broly blurted out in frustration.

Vegeta blinked, self-reflection on why his mind decided on a bed at first as a proper binding spot coming to a halt as he arched an eyebrow at him. "Is that all?" he responded, affecting a disbelieving nonchalance in his tone. If he was inclined to be openly honest, Vegeta _was_ intrigued by the idea of testing the might of the mysterious boy and having a _living_ sparring partner that could come to blows with him equally was a rare opportunity. The chatter around them fell to a hush that moment, all eyes turned on him. "All right, if you think you can keep up, we'll try it," Vegeta sighed with an exaggerated shrug of disinterest. "But no complaining if you get hurt, understand?"

Broly nodded, scowl still in place at the prince's arrogant demeanor, he turned a glance to Tyber who only said: "Don't break anything besides him, Broly." The ghost of a smile came to the quiet Saiyan's face while Vegeta scoffed.

"Bulma and Tarble have fun sparring," Broly turned a look to Tarble, nodding as he spoke, "I want to as well."

Did he really have to bring _that_ up? Now all Vegeta could think of was the almost _playful_ way she and _his_ (!) brother would trade blows, laughing and smiling like it was some game. _Now_ all he could think of was being envious of Bulma _and_ Tarble at the same time—he was too strong and conditioned to never give anything but his everything in a fight now. Vegeta _couldn't_ spar with Tarble the same way that they did as children, mock arguments about who cheated and rolling tackles through the palace gardens. And Bulma—of course, she would _never_ train or spar with him, it would become some game of dominance with him and she was perceptive enough to realize that.

"I don't want to hurt them."

What? Oh, Broly was talking again. "But it's all right to hurt me?" Vegeta clipped back with one of his insufferable smirks.

"Yes, of course," he replied instantly, tone flat and expression equally so. "It benefits you, does it not?" A wave of chuckles and snorts rippled through the table; Vegeta's smile only grew wider, leaning his elbow on the table and fist against his cheek to look up at him.

"That's right, good to know you're with the program, kid."

The moment of whatever was going on then—possibly camaraderie—was spoiled by the hag speaking: "Well, Broly, you'll have to wait. Vegeta and Bulma will be taking a trip to Orui."

Dead silence fell over the table, Vegeta's elbow slipped, he looked up at Yaba _gaping_ in an undignified manner.

"What?!" he _and_ Tyber burst at the same time. The two looked at each other, confusion written all over their faces. They stumbled over their words, speaking opposite things simultaneously ("I wasn't—" "you were—?!") until Vegeta got a word in first: "I was going to _stop_ her from leaving! She was going to pop off by herself like a reckless idiot!"

"And you're suddenly _so concerned_ with that?" Tyber snarled disbelievingly, teeth bared and tail lashing.

" _Tyber,_ " the Namek suddenly spoke, commanding him with something in his native tongue. Whatever it was made Tyber meekly wilt in his seat, looking down at his plate in shame while his wife soothed him with Heran words.

"Yes, in fact, I am," Vegeta intoned calmly despite the man being silenced. "Being my technician, she needs to stay here for my convenience."

Some faces turned to him with baleful looks then, it wasn't like anybody there was under the illusion that Vegeta _wasn't_ a demanding and selfish bastard obsessed with being in control though so of course he looked back with cool indifference.

"Okay, first—I'm not _your_ technician," a familiar voice from out of view cut in. "Second—we're just gonna act like I'm not capable of thinking and deciding for myself, huh?"

The attention turned to the doorway, the sound of chairs scraping and gasps filling the air as Bulma stood there with a positively _insolent_ posture of her hands on her hips and a glare in her eyes. " _None of you,_ " she emphasized, sweeping her gaze over the stricken audience, "Decide what I get to do. Yes, even as my teacher!"

Tyber flinched.

"Yes, even as my superior officer!"

Mosto shrugged.

"And _yes,_ especially as the Prince of all nine-and-a-half Saiyans!"

Vegeta immediately stood, tail lashing, blood boiling in excitement for a fight. Tarble cast an alarmed glance to him but clearly feared saying anything. _Everybody_ knew what happened when Bulma and Vegeta were in a room together, it never ended well. Nappa, from Yaba's right, offered her a bit of the food he had started shoveling into his mouth at the sight of a fight brewing. She took some and mimicked his actions with a strange gleeful grin as if she already knew how things were going to end up. Mosto sighed, shaking his head, sending a warning look to all at the table to not intervene. Tyber's children huddled together, glaring at Vegeta and clenching their fists like they _wanted_ to despite the warning. Broly, too, glowered at him with that aura of menace should hands be put on Bulma.

"Kids," Zurui called with a calm in no way matched a fight about to start. "Words only. House rules."

"You're mistaken," Vegeta said, completely ignoring anything going on around him. "Your designation is my personal technician, as the person who built and maintains my gravity room. You must _stay_ here while I am here in order to maintain that it keeps working. Your junkheap of a ship takes a full _week_ to make a trip like that, I refuse to pause my training that long for your gallivanting."

"It's _not_ a gallivant! It's so I can improve your bodysuit, you insufferable ass!"

("Bulma! Language!" Tyber shouted before being pulled down by Zurui.)

"It doesn't _need_ improving! I've worked with this type for my entire life, it's fine! You're just being frivolous!"

 _Why were they talking about clothes anyway?!_ It escalated into personal insults (and plenty of cursing, to Tyber's dismay) regardless until Vegeta came to: "The one you built can make it in three!"

(Behind him, Yaba smiled.)

Bulma rolled her eyes with a scoff, "Like you'd stop for the six days I'd be gone on that trip, either!"

Vegeta sputtered, trying to think of _something_ that would either _make her_ or _convince her_ to stay. "You—I—"

("Vegeta, take a deep breath!" Nappa stage-whispered to him.)

He took a breath. One. Two. Three. He cleared his head. He looked the infuriating woman in the eye, face set in determination. "We'll go together."

A silence more profound than the one Vegeta experienced earlier in the morning fell over them. Bulma's look of confusion was almost worth the bother of saying such a daunting thing. Almost, until Tyber reminded them there were other people in the room. " _No_ ," his stern voice called their attention back to the table. "That will _not_ happen."

"Excuse me," Bulma said, eyes turning accusingly to him. "What did I just say about people not deciding things for me?"

"Yes, Tyber," Vegeta added with an affected tone of curiosity. "Weren't you just telling me this morning how you trusted Bulma's judgment?" _'Stay out of it, you deplorable coward,'_ was implied through the glare alone.

He could not say _anything_ in reply to such a decisive show of unity from the two, he only turned his eyes down.

Vegeta couldn't smirk at the pathetic image in satisfaction for very long as Bulma grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him away from the eating room, through the house, and outside to the deck. Her grip, despite the insistent pull, was easy to break away from should the need arise and she let go as soon as they were outside and completely alone.

Bulma stood with her back to him for a while, though he couldn't see her face he still felt the exhaustion weighing down on her shoulders as she sighed his name in exasperation. "Why?"

He blinked at the question and somehow managed, "Why what?" Why was she questioning him and _what_ was she questioning exactly?

She turned to him, the look of _defeat_ on her face hitting him unexpectedly in the chest. Why? Why was she looking at him like that? What did he do? What did one do when a—a— _friend_ was looking at them like they had personally harmed them?

"What kind of game are you playing with me now?" she groaned finally, running her fingers through her hair, almost on the verge of tears from the weight of stress, agony, and fatigue.

Vegeta opened his mouth to speak, turned his eyes away when the pain of looking at her with such a vulnerable expression became too much. He stalled, trying to think of something to say in reply.

"I'm trying, you know?" Bulma's voice interrupted before he could grasp onto a thought. "I'm really trying here to make things that will _help_ you, so why are you playing games with me?"

Her voice cracked. Frustration. She thought he was _joking around_ —irritation steeled his nerves against the alarm at seeing her like this, Vegeta squared his shoulders and crossed his arms. "I'm _not_ playing games, Bulma. I'm being serious," he asserted. "You've never been to Orui, I have, they know me there."

"For good reasons or bad reasons?" she responded skeptically, already shifting her stance like she was going to walk away.

 _Don't you dare._ "For good reasons!" Vegeta bit out. "We were allies when the planet was still around, _of course_ for good reasons!"

"Whatever, I don't have time to play around with you," Bulma grumbled, turning to leave. "I have to pack."

 _His tail_ shot out and grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her _a little too close_ but still—she wouldn't run away now, and it's not like _she_ knew the implications behind how the rebellious (yet conveniently helpful) thing was acting. "I said I wasn't playing games. You're too tired to think straight, let alone pilot, and you expect to keep vigilant on a ship to a planet you don't know for a week?"

She made a noise of disgust, refusing to make eye contact with him. With how close they were now, Vegeta could see how bloodshot her eyes were, the dark circles, the gaunt look in general—fuck, she wasn't just neglecting sleep, she wasn't _feeding_ herself. That just would not do.

"Bulma. You wouldn't be able to defend yourself effectively if you were attacked alone."

"I could just…" Her brow furrowed, fighting to stay awake as they spoke. "Ugh. Damn you, _fine_." Bulma pushed away from him, glowering at the tail still wrapped around her wrist. "Don't make me squeeze it."

"That wouldn't work on me," he retorted, nonetheless bringing his tail back around his waist. "And I realize you're an alien, but a Saiyan's tail is _never_ to be touched without their consent. Remember that."

"Okay, but your tail can touch me without my consent?" she snarked back in disgust with a roll of her eyes.

 _Yes_ , he almost thought to answer with for a second before he realized how _inappropriate_ that truly sounded. "Never mind the goddamned tail! We've got packing to do, haven't we?"

Naturally, she ignored him, turning away again to go back inside. "Yeah, yeah. I'd better not find when we get there that you were engaged to Oruian nobility or something, I'm _not_ bailing you out of that."

 _What._ "Wh—"

The door slammed in his face before Vegeta could get a word in edgewise.

"Orui doesn't _have_ nobility!" he screamed at the door nonetheless. "Vulgar woman! Wretched creature!"

This was a _terrible_ idea.

 

* * *

 

 

It took a while of pacing back and forth, muttering to himself about nothing, pulling his hair, lashing his tail around, and repeating the cycle before Raditz found himself seeking out Launch. What he was going to _do_ when he found her, he wasn't entirely certain, but something in his ( _heart_ ) instinct told him that he _needed_ to find her.

He needed to stomp out the burgeoning bond.

Why?

Raditz had run away from everything that threatened to change or irrevocably harm him for ages now, why should it be any different in the present? He _ran_ to _survive_.

( _But if someone caught you by the tail—it's your own fault, you wanted **Father** to train you out of the weakness, but he wasn't there just like **he's not here now**._ )

_Shut up! Stop it!_

Launch had already _apologized_ for grabbing his tail—she didn't realize what it would do, in fact, Bulma neglected to tell her. From that Raditz learned that whatever happened with either side of Launch, she recalled the experience. Apparently, it was a conscious effort by herself that started with writing in a journal before she could remember on her own.

She had told him this one night, in hushed tones like it was a secret, she disliked her "bad" side because it represented everything that she was told it was wrong to be.

 _"Maybe it was because she stood up for herself, like you said,"_ she giggled, torn between a look of loss at her misspent youth and forcing a smile for him. _"Where I came from…they said nice girls were quiet and obedient. No man would want a woman that wasn't—"_

 _"Who the fuck actually cares what they **want**?"_ Raditz interrupted with a bewildered look. _"Men should be going out of their way to please **you**."_

His mother told him that, it was no good if only _one_ half was putting in effort. That wasn't what made a _pair_ work.

 _"Well…she didn't,"_ Launch hesitantly continued. _"Really, she—me—we weren't happy with being told things like that. I tried to ignore all those feelings I pushed down, then one day I…sneezed really hard—oh gosh, it felt like my whole brain was shaken! The next thing I knew, I wasn't in my town anymore, but I was on the run for robbing banks."_

 _"She wanted to get out,"_ Raditz observed. _"I suppose you can't get very far if you don't have currency on you."_

_"No…but in the world outside, it wasn't so different. People liked me for being nice, but the second I changed it was like a lightbulb came on and I could **see** what they were really up to—taking advantage of me."_

He couldn't respond so well to that except a glum and guilty acknowledgement that yes, she was right, people did often take advantage of the sweet and kind like her.

( _I would have too if I had known you then._ )

"Raditz?"

Launch's voice in the present broke him out of his reverie, inciting the dignified reaction of a frightened squawk and a jump backwards. "Launch!" he cried. "Th—there you are!"

_That was dumb! That was so dumb, you idiot!_

"Yes…here I am," she assented with a worried look. "Were you looking for me?" Her eyes caught onto the scarf in his hands. "Oh, your tie came undone? Would you like me to fix it?"

"No—yes—uh—it didn't come _undone_ ," Raditz stuttered foolishly as he slowly came undone himself. "I—I mean, you can fix it if you _want_ , but um, you can have it back if you want!"

 _Oh, he doesn't want it,_ her thoughts echoed sadly whilst she smiled ( _forced a smile_ ). "I see. I did mean for you to keep it, it's been with you for a while now after all."

"Right yes _I definitely want it_ ," he insisted, nodding, probably looking _out of his mind_ to poor Launch right then. "Um. What should I do?" Before any _more_ stupid things flew out of his mouth, that is.

Launch directed him to sit down so she could get at his hair, she bravely tried to rake a brush through to get out the worst of the salt despite the wild nature of Saiyan hair, speaking as she went: "Did you go swimming?"

Raditz vaguely mumbled something about visiting the ocean in confirmation. _I dunked myself repeatedly in cold water because I was thinking about getting a little too damn close to you._

She hummed sweetly, tying his hair back into the state it was before. "Does this hurt?"

"No, and you don't have to keep asking me that every time you pull on something of mine, Launch," he sighed. "That was _weeks_ ago, I'm over it."

"W-well, it was just—"

"I know, I know, not a nice thing to do, and it hurt like _fuck_ don't get me wrong, but I guess it never came up with you around Kakarot, so don't worry about it." He could barely feel her tugging on his hair anyway, it was far too thick to produce much reaction unless someone _really_ yanked it with an ungodly amount of strength.

"But Goku…"

Raditz automatically twitched at hearing _the incorrect name_ but didn't interrupt.

"Goku would still get hurt, I think. He doesn't like having his tail touched, or at least it bothers him. But all the others I've seen here don't seem to worry at all. Surely there's a way to...I don't know, train it?" she continued, coming around to face him.

With him sitting down and her standing, Raditz tried to look somewhere besides at her chest right in front of him as he quickly stood to cancel out _any_ awkwardness. "Well…yeah, you do that. When you're a Saiyan, I mean," he explained, scratching at his cheek. "They train the young out of the weakness, it's only the _really_ weak or brand-new ones that still get hurt by it." He trailed off, looking away from her. "Kakarot was…too young, and I never learned."

"Why?" Launch inquired, tilting her head. She seemed to be honestly interested in hearing about the topic, he didn't want to let her down by saying _nothing_ —especially not when she had been forthright with him already.

( _Run. Run now. Run. This is a threat._ )

Raditz took a deep breath and a step forward into the unknown. "I wanted my father to teach me. But Father was…always busy with his duties as a soldier." He winced at the memory of his stubborn self as a child. "And I insisted on it, so Mother just couldn't get through my thick skull about how I _needed_ to learn." He shrugged, shoulders slumping and letting out a long sigh of exhaustion. "And now here I am, a 20-year-old fucking Saiyan that still gets knocked down by a yank on the tail."

She must have heard something that he had not intended to express in his words as Launch took his hand, bringing his attention down to her determined eyes. "You can still learn!" she _encouraged_ him as if he deserved it. "It might hurt at first—like—like with me remembering _all_ of my memories! But it's never too late, you can do it!"

Could he? Could he…? Launch seemed convinced that he could, her earnest feelings creating an unfamiliar swell of warmth in him that he wasn't sure if he liked or feared. "I can try," he mumbled dispassionately. "I'll…ask Nappa to help. He's always been on me about it."

Launch was still holding his hand with both of hers. Raditz felt compelled to put his other hand over hers in response. She smiled, a rosy flush washing into her cheeks and sending a strange shiver of anxiety through him. "It's okay, Raditz," she reassured him in a quiet voice. "I know it's hard and it's scary to ask people for help. I _know_ it's easier to think that there's no hope left. But there is." She squeezed his hands, eyes tearing up in an overwhelming flood of emotion that struck him in the chest. "There's always hope! That's what being with my friends back on Earth taught me!"

 _Fuck._ Hope, companionship, trust—those weren't familiar to him. But whatever gods were out there with Launch he _felt_ them as if they had always been part of his life.

 _I think she's right._ His thoughts rang. _I think I can do it._

Launch's smile grew into a beam as if she heard his thoughts.

She might have. If he wasn't _cautious_ Launch would hear all of that and know about his contradictory feelings of fear and protectiveness towards _whatever_ he had with her. If he wasn't cautious she might _know_ everything.

But Raditz didn't care about any of that anymore. Her—and Bulma—those two unusual Earth women, they wanted to _help_ him. Bulma wanted to reunite him with Kakarot, Launch wanted help build confidence in himself. They had their off days, times of strife, but he never felt _unsafe_ with them, especially not Launch. _Never_ Launch.

Raditz had friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out I'm a liar and we didn't make it to December, but that's okaaaay, next time we'll finally meet all those good burds at Orui! I mean, if Bulma and Vegeta don't kill each other first being stuck in a spaceship together.
> 
> EDIT 10/11/18: Hey I'm a ditz and had to revise a couple of lines to fix timeline inconsistencies, thanks for helping me out with those as I'm basically going at this thing alone? So yes, it's very much appreciated.


	17. Corvid Curiosity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things happen over the course of three days. Some of them good, some of them not so much. Raditz is disenchanted about Namekians and Patrollers forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a long one because I'm in midterm season and studying for exams weekly, so I wanted to leave folks with something substantial. Please take breaks while reading this to avoid eyestrain and stay hydrated.
> 
> Also edited to add warning there is actual death and some unsettling imagery in this one. Death will kinda be a thing going forward cause, of course, it's DB (and yet it will still likely be tame compared to other works cause I can't take a gotdamn thing seriously.)

Vegeta was apparently very good at keeping himself entertained while Bulma was asleep, she had no disturbances or unwelcome intrusions.

On the other hand, when Bulma woke up and settled herself back into a routine, Vegeta was asleep and Bulma was _bored_. She had no inkling of how Vegeta was supposed to relieve that, considering every time they spoke he would rile her up and start an argument. He enjoyed doing that way too much, almost like the Saiyan equivalent of pulling her pigtails.

Even grown-ass men from outer space didn't know how to use their words, typical.

Her scouter beeping as she flipped her omelet over in the pan interrupted any musings about her weird friend and his weird enjoyment of ticking her off. Bulma absently reached over to the counter and picked the scouter up. "Hello?" she greeted, stepping aside to let a cooking bot through (carrying one part of the load of food meant for Vegeta, of course).

 _"Ugh, you finally answered!"_ the harsh scrape of Raditz's voice answered. Did that guy have no volume besides screaming? _"Were you in a coma or what?!"_

"Geez, Raditz," she sighed, moving her meal over to a plate. "Sleeping is a thing, you know, there's nothing to freak out over."

_"How should I know? You humans are utterly ridiculous—not to mention repulsive!"_

"Repulsive? Where's that coming from?" Bulma looked up at the feeling of Vegeta's ki, looking away when the crochety Saiyan prince appeared in the doorway. "Are you coming to terms with some issues you have or something?"

Vegeta glanced over at the sound of her voice, then grabbed the food set in front of him with a grunt upon realizing she wasn't expecting him to respond.

 _"What is it with you people and coming to terms? Saiyans don't do that."_ Raditz sounded like he was absolutely making up what Saiyans did or didn't do, just as it always did when he or Vegeta said that.

"Raditz. I don't give a shit what Saiyans do or don't do, get to the point already."

A coughing noise that sounded like a stifled laugh came from Vegeta, though Bulma was more interested in the voice in the background that sounded like someone encouraging Raditz to keep going.

_"Okay, okay! Geez, Launch, get off my back!"_

Bulma raised an eyebrow, pointedly keeping her gaze away from the other occupant of the kitchen as she munched on her breakfast. "Any time now, Raditz, not like I exist here too or anything."

_"I'm trying, okay! Look, I don't know why you got so—I don't know—weird? About me calling you vulgar? But—"_

She tried to remember what occasion he was even referring to, it wasn't like her being called vulgar was _uncommon_ or even that bad compared to other things. It was probably a more recent time when she was too tired to even think straight. Bulma slowed her chewing as she waited for Raditz to finally get to the point.

 _"You're not…terrible. And…I am…grateful—"_ he practically choked on that word. _"That you're my—f…f…associate. Helpful associate. Helpful associate that's very nice."_

"Raditz. Just say friend, it's not that hard."

_"Shut up! I'm not finished!"_

Bulma rolled her eyes, now turning her attention to Vegeta's progress on the piles of food the bots had set out for him. He was intently concentrating on his eating. What a boring thing to look at.

_"I'm s-sssssss—"_

Raditz slurred his words as if he had one too many drinks while trying to gather his courage. _"S-sooooooor—"_

"Raditz, out with it already!" Vegeta snapped from his place.

"Holy shit, Raditz, are you trying to say sorry?" Bulma disregarded anything Vegeta said, turning away and becoming about a hundred percent more interested in where this was going.

_"…Trying. Yeah."_

She laughed, clutching her stomach and trying to keep tears from coming. "Oh my god! That's so sweet!"

And it was way more than Goku ever did as far as manners went. Who knew Raditz of all people was a sensitive type?

_"Shut up! Don't say that, it's freaky!"_

"Oh, come on, you don't like getting complimented by a cute girl?" she teased as Vegeta apparently had enough of what was happening in the kitchen (and enough food) and left to return to his precious gravity room. "And before you say _I'll let you know how I feel when that does happen_ , Vegeta beat you to that."

 _"I…wouldn't have thought to say that, but all right."_ His tone had notes of disappointment that he didn't think of a retort like that before Vegeta did. _"That's all I wanted to say, so I'll let you get back to the whatever-the-hell you do with Vegeta now."_

"You mean argue about nothing?"

_"Yes, that. Bye."_

While Raditz was a nice diversion, his awkward attempts at trying to socialize like a regular person who wasn't raised under the tyrannical rule of a frosty lizard could only last so long. _I don't know what I was thinking letting **him** come along,_ Bulma's glum thoughts accompanied her to a very special project in her room that had nothing to do with Saiyans. _I mean, what good is it actually? As if I'd go in a ship without security measures. He didn't have to pretend to care about my being attacked!_

If it _was_ pretend, even with their so-called "link" Bulma still understood nothing about Vegeta and he very purposefully held her at a distance—playing games of acceptance and rejection to mess with her. She could only feel the aura of a lonely, blood-soaked and altogether _neglectful_ life in the way he held himself and the scars that painted a stormy picture of life-risking battles and possible torture. Scars to most were very personal, she considered as she twisted the wires around in her project (seemingly ordinary black armbands). Tyber had some as well, though not as many as Vegeta despite their age difference. Being asked about them always drew his gaze into that dark, distant place he went to whenever considering something painful.

 _"They are here so people like you will never experience what caused them,"_ he eventually answered from the dark place, sending a chill through her soul at the memory.

 _But that can't be said for Vegeta, can it?_ She felt like she was reaching into a box that could either contain scorpions or nothing at all while trying to find answers to questions not even asked yet about that enigmatic man. He was certainly no storybook prince, no knight in shining armor that would protect her from the evils of the universe. He _was_ one of the evils of the universe as far as he was concerned, insistent that he would take Frieza's place. Bulma repeated that conversation so often in her head it ended up in her dreams at some point, except to add to the existential madness they were discussing it as children in the very first place they met _for some reason_.

It was a very odd perspective looking at a smaller, cuter Vegeta through the eyes of herself at five. He used to be _much_ taller than her, which just wasn't fair. He wasn't wearing the black battle armor set he had worn when they first met, however, it was more like his current armor and bodysuit sans sleeves and a positively dramatic red cape attached to the shoulders. It was probably the first and only time Bulma could say that Vegeta actually looked princely. ( _And why does this kid have bangs when the big grouchy version doesn't?_ )

 _"When I destroy Frieza, I will take his place!"_ the little Vegeta said, his adorable prepubescent voice far and away considerably less intimidating than his current timbre. _"I'm going to be the King!"_

She planted her hands on her hips and stared the pint-sized prince down. _"You don't want to be like Frieza at all!"_ her dream-self-that-was-also-her-as-a-child argued. _"Frieza isn't a **king** , he doesn't care about anything in the universe! Plus—wouldn't it be boring, being king of a whole universe by yourself?"_

Why she asked that in her dream she didn't know, Vegeta was alone anyway. Yet, to her surprise, the response from the too-adorable-to-be-Vegeta boy was: _"I wouldn't be **alone**!" _ He crossed his arms, tapping his foot insistently as his tail wiggled around with pent-up energy. _"You'd be there, too!"_

Even in a dream Bulma knew that was a very vague assertion. That and, _"I wouldn't let a **bad** guy be the King! If you're a bad guy, I'm gonna make you cry again!"_

Just as she promised before, though she always woke up before the little Vegeta replied in the almost-identical-except-now-they-were-kids-for-some-reason conversation.

"Pffft…thinking about dreams," she muttered darkly, pulling one of the bands onto her wrist to test how it felt. "I really _am_ losing my mind."

Two days left.

 

* * *

  


Launch wouldn't—couldn't—tell a lie, she was _very_ worried about Bulma; she had a sinking feeling that something dangerous would happen and it had everything to do with that Vegeta fellow. While Launch wasn't the greatest with reading people (either side of her) something about Vegeta seemed very closed off in general. Bulma talked about _relating_ to him, she couldn't see the resemblance between the intelligent and caring woman that was her friend and…well, Vegeta. Raditz she understood, she could comfortably relate and talk to him, Nappa…one side of her felt wary, but for completely unfair reasons. It wasn't Nappa's fault he was bald, which reminded her of Roshi.

"Nappa? He kind of raised us, I guess," Raditz said when she asked. "I wouldn't say it was _perfect_ raising, but it was all right for being stuck with two brats that aren't yours. A brat like _Vegeta_ especially, he's _why_ Nappa's bald," he joked, laughing to himself at his own comment. "Vegeta was always difficult, being a child prodigy and never letting anyone forget that."

Child prodigy, Launch's attention stayed on those words, she cast her eyes to the side as if she would catch sight of Vegeta brooding around if he wasn't training. Of course, since he and Bulma had been gone for hours now, she did not catch sight of the loner prince. "What do you mean by prodigy?" she queried, gently guiding Raditz's hands as he (clumsily) tried to return the favor from earlier and brush her hair. "He was very smart?" She forced herself not to wince as her Saiyan friend snagged a little too forcefully on a tangle, though she couldn't help her posture becoming rigid in response. He hesitated, seeming to sense her pain, then changed methods for trying to work the comb through her curls. It took a moment for him to answer, leading her to wonder what exactly constituted as a "prodigy" on his home planet. Saiyan culture was really quite different from Earth culture, glorifying the honor of battle and victory while Earth put more value on wealth and influence.

Despite the differences inherent, the concept of a child prodigy was not unfamiliar to Launch, though one would never catch her applying a title like that to herself—she was exceedingly average even while growing up a small-town girl. Bulma, however, was exceptional and had been from a very young age, though that came with its own detriment she confessed to Launch softly one night when everyone else was sleeping and Bulma monitored her many projects. For Bulma, being a "prodigy" was much lonelier than it seemed from the outside. The charmed life of the rich heiress with an intellect greater than her father's hid cobwebbed skeletons of isolation and debilitating perfectionism in the closet.

 _"Sorry, the genius kid can't come out to play, she's busy finding a more efficient way to split an atom,"_ she had remarked with a dry laugh.

"Of course," Raditz eventually answered with a soft edge to his tone only reserved for when it was just the two of them. Launch noticed over time as she got to know him, Raditz did have a gentle and emotionally intuitive demeanor to him, he called it "mimicry" and insisted he wasn't _sentimental_ , a word he spat out like it was foul. (It seemed more like he was afraid of being vulnerable, if someone asked her opinion.) "He's the most intelligent Saiyan to be born in a long time, and he's a battle genius. Nobody had to teach him a thing about combat, he didn't need a mentor, he was a natural from the beginning."

"Was he…?" Launch mused, trying to imagine a life of…nothing but fighting. No time with his parents, no friends, no brother after he was taken away, all wrapped up in a culture obsessed with fighting and becoming stronger and stronger. It sounded like the perfect recipe for being neurotic and lacking in people skills. "That sounds lonely," she continued her thought, softening the words a little (she didn't want to be rude, after all).

On the other hand, it made so much more sense that Bulma related to him now. Though she was vague about what exactly was spoken of, she did relate that their conversations could get…intimate. _"And I don't mean in the phone-sex way,"_ Bulma clarified as if Launch would _ever_ come to that conclusion herself.

Raditz paused, his hands—roughly calloused as they were—delicately holding her locks. "Lonely?" he repeated with a questioning cadence. "Vegeta…he's…I—I mean, Saiyans don't—"

"They don't get lonely?" she interrupted with a giggle. "But you're a primate-type alien, like humans are! Primate-types are social, they crave and thrive on contact!"

All right, so she was repeating something Bulma said verbatim, it was still relevant and Raditz was being silly.

"Besides," she looked over her shoulder at him, smiling, "Look at you! You've told me so much about your parents, and here you asked to brush my hair. That's very friendly!"

He stuttered, a red flush coming to his ears. "I—well—you brushed _mine_ , I couldn't just not offer!" Raditz fumbled an explanation.

Poor man, he was truly very sweet, he just wouldn't give that side of himself a chance. He was warming to it a little, at least. Launch felt the hints of that link business Bulma experienced with Vegeta, after all—Raditz _did_ crave connection, friendship, he just didn't know how to approach it. While her wilder half would aggressively throw _all_ the friendship she could at him possible, Launch's emotional intuition whispered that it needed to be handled as carefully as he handled her hair. Calm, slow, gentle, trusting.

Perhaps she was a fool for willingly giving her trust to a man, her more cynical half concurred.

"You're not," Raditz mumbled, tying her hair into a braid. "I mean…yes, last year I would say you were for trusting me, but…"

"I know, Raditz!" she laughed, handing him a red ribbon when he gestured for it. "I'm happy we've gotten to be friends!"

"I'm…I am, too." He struggled to say it, just like he struggled with speaking to Bulma about how he felt.

Oh, well. It would be a process, but Launch didn't shy away from that sort of thing—not after going through the process of confronting her own split in personalities.

"Raditz?"

"Hmm?"

"At first I wasn't going to say anything, because I didn't want to embarrass you," she began, twisting a stray lock around her finger. "But it's okay to think that your friends are cute, too. There's nothing wrong with that. I mean, Bulma is beautiful in my opinion, and you're quite handsome when you don't have such a mean face."

"Wh—" He stiffened, hands jittering a little before he stammered: "O-okay…"

"It is, I promise!" Launch insisted. "I won't judge you for it! Don't worry about what it means so much, okay?"

"All right, all right," Raditz sighed as though she had tasked him with a burdensome job. "Sheesh, you're going to ruin me with all of this positive thinking crap."

"But that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I _guess_!"

He didn't sound convinced. Launch would count it as a positive step forward, anyway.

 

* * *

  


Nappa seemed bothered about something he was watching just out of view. Tyber was bothered (still) about leaving Bulma and Vegeta alone on a ship and not being able to accompany her since he had Patroller duties. He would think he had good reason to be _very_ bothered, yet Nappa looked positively ruffled as he watched…what?

"I don't get it, Tyber," the older Saiyan eventually commented. Broly and Tarble, busily scribbling away at their schoolwork, paused when their attention was caught by him speaking, then carried on again at Tyber's gesture. "All of these feelings and—what's that word again?"

"Platonic interaction?" he answered, taking a sip of coffee (thank the gods for Earth food.)

"Yeah, that." Nappa rested his chin in one hand and tapped his fingers on the table with the other. He was watching Raditz and Launch mess around with hair stuff and _talk_ to each other all happily and such in the next room, Tyber realized. "It sounds like you made up that word, by the way."

Tyber looked over at the pair—they seemed fine to him, Raditz was getting some lessons on how to touch somebody without hurting them and that it was truly all right to just be close to someone. "All words are made up," he said rather than commenting on Nappa's bizarre voyeurism.

Then again, Nappa probably couldn't conceive the idea of a woman and a man _just being friends_ , which was absurd to Tyber all told. Though it was true the two of them were from a different generation and couldn't as easily disengage the idea of opposite sex interaction they were taught, that didn't mean the younger ones had to live in the past.

Nappa, rather than respond, squinted at him, then leaned over to Tarble and asked, "Does he always say weird shit like that?"  He didn't even try to whisper. "Before he has the caffeine stuff, I mean."

"He's right, though," Tarble said, gesturing with his scribing tool. "When you think about it, all words are made up by somebody."

"And the Platonic school of thought is a legitimate branch of philosophy, though the actual definition of platonic love is not the same as it is used in common vernacular," Broly continued in a level tone as he kept his eyes on his reading tablet.

It was the first full sentence he spoke in front of Nappa that day, he was making good progress.

Nappa wasn't as pleased for Broly as Tyber was as he groaned, "You _guys._ " He ran his hand over his head, swiping it over his face in frustration. "You're throwing a bunch of stuff at me at once, have _mercy_."

Tyber felt himself smile, though usually he would keep his expression more controlled around others. "Does General Nappa not enjoy philosophy?" he asked with feigned curiosity.

"Not as much as I enjoy knocking teeth out of pretty-boy heads!" the older Saiyan growled back.

"Pretty-boy," he repeated, half-distracted with redirecting Broly's attention to the essay he was supposed to be writing. "That's a new one, I've never been called that before."

Generally, nobody would have the guts or lack of vision to call a Saiyan anything close to _pretty_.

"Pretty-boy," Broly tested the insult himself, staring down at his writing tablet. "Don't you call girls pretty rather than boys?"

"I don't think I'd be bothered if someone said I was pretty," Tarble mused.

"The summary essay isn't about that," Tyber clipped. "You two get back to work, Nappa and I will give you space."

The boys dutifully worked while Tyber took Nappa by the elbow and lead him to what accounted for his office. "What is your obsession with your kids' relationships?" he sighed when the door closed behind them. "From what I can see, Raditz and Launch are building a fine friendship, so what are you worried about?"

"I'm not—worried," Nappa argued haltingly. "I don't care if Raditz and Vegeta have friends—it's just—I dunno…"

"You _are_ worried," Tyber insisted. "Saiyans don't make friends and you're worried about what it will change if they do."

He scowled, crossing his arms. "Saiyans do, Saiyans don't," he muttered. "The fuck does it matter? We're the only ones left!" His tail began to lash around in agitation, surprising Tyber since it was very unusual for Nappa to ever loosen his tail from around his waist. "We should do whatever the hell we want!"

Not that Tyber would disagree there, they were all no longer beholden to Saiyan values and "Saiyans don't do this for some arbitrary reason." But still, the way Nappa would watch Raditz and Vegeta was with a strange mixture of concern and…anger? "You're still worried about them, though," he said, tilting his head to the side. "Why, Nappa?"

The line of thought Nappa had grasped onto seemed tangled and confused as he began pacing, huffing, running his hand over his head. "I just don't get it! How—how they, the girls, do this…friendship thing. And what it's doin' to Raditz and Vegeta! It's nothin' like I've ever seen before, but it's…"

"It seems perfectly normal to me," Tyber said when Nappa failed to continue his thought for longer than a minute. "The fact that Raditz and Vegeta are responding to it even a little is what's surprising, unless you're seeing something more than what I'm seeing?"

"Trust me, pal," Nappa insisted. "They're different now. Hell, Vegeta started acting different the second he realized Bulma was—well, I dunno, alive? Returned from Hell to make his life miserable?"

An amused smirk came to Tyber's face. Bulma, unlike the two of them, would likely go to Heaven when she died so the insistence that she _must_ be from Hell displayed by Raditz at first was entertaining.

"Look, Tyber, I'm not gonna bullshit you with some 'oh I never knew the wuv of _famiweeee_ ' crap, I _love_ blowing things up."

Of course, Nappa's love of chaos and destruction was perfectly normal (for a Saiyan). Tyber knew and accepted that—not that he had much choice when the man quite literally barged into his life asking if he would make the time to go out for drinks. Something in his instinct wanted to argue that Nappa shouldn't entirely discredit the sort of upbringing or any pain resultant from it, but it didn't feel right for him to say that as someone who was equally messed up.

"But I don't exactly love blowing shit up that belongs to people who can't in any way fight back. Matter of fact, I hate it, it's pathetic that Saiyans have just been reduced to demolition crew for Frieza."

Now _that_ was unexpected, Nappa looked and sounded so sincere about it Tyber was taken aback, uncertain of how to respond. Not just sincerity, Nappa's posture spoke dishonorable _defeat_ for an old, proud Saiyan like himself. It made him want to…he wasn't sure what, without thinking he held his hand up towards Nappa's arm as if he was going to give a comforting pat to his fr—comrade.

"Vegeta and Raditz ended up worse for it, since they were so young when the planet was destroyed," Nappa rumbled. "For the longest time I wasn't sure if they even enjoyed fighting anymore, they treated things like purges and training like…I dunno, business-casual sadism."

"Now you're the one making words up," Tyber commented, cramming down the feeling that he knew exactly what Nappa meant.

It was in a Saiyan's blood to fight, they were bold and adventurous types who pursued the next stronger opponent with enthusiasm and intent to test their might against them. At least, those were the values taught to Saiyans in the past, as time went on something changed and there was less concentration on the zest for life and more on dominance, caste systems, measuring of power as if it could _be_ truly measured. Business-casual sadism seemed appropriate to describe it after all.

"Y'know, the first time we met, you asked me…to leave your family out of whatever happened next," Nappa said in a quiet, distant tone after a long pause.

"I remember," Tyber muttered, the bad taste in his mouth whenever he thought of his own cowardice and his betrayal coming back with a vengeance. He pushed that aside as well to acknowledge that yes, he _did_ make Nappa promise, and for all he didn't trust the man to live up to _on my honor as a Saiyan_ , he had. He had in spades, when Tyber considered how the behemoth played with his children like it was the most natural thing in the universe for him to do.

"You thanked me," Nappa continued, tone almost reverent as if he had personally met with the gods. "And it…y'know, I hadn't been thanked for something in a long time. I liked it. It felt funny at the time, being thanked, being smiled at, but I liked it. I liked doing something that earned _gratitude_."

A Saiyan would not be concerned with gratitude back on planet Vegeta was the implication, one the older Saiyans understood well. Tyber had seen how Raditz's expression would work itself from confusion to disgruntled acceptance whenever someone thanked him. He had seen Vegeta silently struggle with himself and his reaction instincts whenever Bulma touched him in a casual, friendly gesture. They were two young men _told_ during their formative years that things like that just weren't supposed to happen, and it wasn't of course. Raditz, Vegeta, even Tyber and Nappa, all of them were born and _bred_ with the intention of fighting even leaving aside the abuse from Frieza. One could not respond to or even initiate a gentle gesture with comfort, could not accept someone coming close with no intention of fighting. It just didn't happen. It wasn't supposed to.

Although, for Raditz…Tyber considered differently after some thought. Raditz had something many Saiyan children did not: his parents cared. Albeit Bardock was more of an aloof and reserved type, but the fact that he and Gine were as close as they were and _cared_ so much about what happened to their children…

Then they died and Raditz was left with Nappa and Vegeta. No wonder he was confused.

When Tyber mentioned it, Nappa nodded in understanding. "Yeah, Raditz really admired Bardock, still does. He tries to hide it from me and Vegeta, but we know he kept his crappy old model of scouter so he could keep the message they recorded for him."

"They recorded one for Kakarot as well," Tyber said, only using Goku's Saiyan name so Nappa would know whom he was referring to. "I'll have to give it to him someday."

"After he's done with tail-training!" he insisted, wagging his finger. " _Finally_ Raditz told me what was up with him skippin' tail day, he asked me to train him."

"Ah, I see." There wasn't a specific "tail day" back on the planet, more often Saiyan youths were trained by their parents. While Tyber didn't speak to many other Saiyan children when he was young, he felt it safe to assume that the "training" was little more than humiliating abuse until the reaction of pain stopped for most as it was for him. "I suppose Raditz never was trained by Bardock."

"Yeah and he told me he gave poor Gine grief about it when she tried to make him see reason."

Tyber had never met Gine, only heard rumors about a Saiyan woman who didn't like fighting—it wasn't that she couldn't, she didn't _want_ to. How a Saiyan like that survived to adulthood he wasn't sure, but he had to admire the woman for not running away like he had done. Bardock, however…"I met Bardock once," he found himself blurting out. "He…wasn't a bad person. Just played things close to his chest. I can see how Raditz would be confused if he tried to mimic that without understanding all of what went on in his head."

"…When did you meet Bardock?" Nappa inquired, truly curious as to what sort of meeting the reserved Patroller could have had with the equally reserved soldier.

"I'll tell you later, not now," he promised, brushing anything about him to the side. "It doesn't matter anyway, the point is Kakarot—or rather, Goku—has some good friends, and now Raditz has those friends. I think he'll be okay."

Nappa didn't seem convinced that such a thing in Tyber's past "didn't matter" but decided it would be wisest to leave it be. There was no guarantee talking about something like that wouldn't incite an anxiety attack, something that hadn't happened in a while since Tyber's fight with Vegeta. "Wherever the hell Gine and Bardock ended up in the afterlife, anyway, at least they won't have to worry." He paused, tilting his head and staring down at him. "What about Vegeta? You don't have a feeling like that for him?"

Tyber looked back up at him impassively, frown set firmly in place, until his gaze softened. "His eyes…are different from when I first met him. He seems…happier."

Happy and pursuing the spirit of adventure in life, getting stronger to face with stronger opponents and fight for the fun of it. Just like a Saiyan of the old days was _supposed_ to. Sure, Vegeta still had that anger and bitterness, and while Tyber wouldn't speak it aloud he was positive that Vegeta had intentions to overthrow Frieza before anything else. It was regardless a marked difference from the year prior.

"Right?!" Nappa vigorously nodded, clasping his hands together in an uncharacteristic gesture of pure glee. "I thought so, too! It's 'cause of Bulma!"

"Yes…" Tyber's expression became uncomfortable as he recalled that the troublesome pair were alone together on a spaceship _right then_. "I'm still not happy about the Orui trip…"

"Eh, don't worry about it," Nappa scoffed dismissively, shrugging it off. "Worst they could do is fighting or fucking at this point."

"Ugh, gods alive, Nappa—don't say shit like that!" Tyber groaned, rubbing his temples. "I think Vegeta has more restraint than _that_."

There was a generous silence between them before Nappa spoke again, "Err. Don't you mean Bulma?"

"No."

The birth control chip kit he gave to her in strict confidence for "you know when you'll need it" emergencies spoke volumes about his belief in Bulma's sense of restraint, despite the offended screaming that came from her after the "gift."

Not that Tyber would tell him that.

Nappa probably didn't need to be told just from looking at Tyber's expression alone.

 

* * *

  


Eventually Vegeta had emerged from the top level of the ship to demand that his battle bots be fixed. The lights mimicking a typical day and night cycle had started to dim, Bulma had taxed herself testing her ki-enhancing bands but nonetheless pushed herself away from the workbench to fix the things. Vegeta didn't fall into step with her as she made her way to the main control room but rather lingered just a few steps behind, she could feel his stare on _something,_ yet he didn't comment.

"I don't even know how you did this," she observed while disassembling the machines to fix their melted wiring. Vegeta had taken a seat some distance away from her, continuing to watch and not speak. "I don't see any outer damage, but _inside_ , it's like you…" Her words faltered, Bulma's eyes met Vegeta's.

_Ran an electric current through them and overloaded the wiring._

Vegeta smirked knowingly and finally opened his big mouth to say: "Tyber taught me his trick."

"Did you threaten him?!" Bulma immediately accused him, straightening up, eyes alight with rage. "Is that what you did, did you threaten him _again_?!"

Why didn't he just ask _her_ if he wanted to learn it, did he have some sick love of tormenting his own species? Vegeta didn't answer at first, but instead moved closer and took her by the wrist to examine it.

"I thought I was only seeing things in the dark," he said, looking critically over the bright red burns and beginnings of lacerations on her wrists and palms. "What did you do?"

 _Answer me first, you asshole!_ Bulma's thoughts screamed at him, she tried to jerk away her hand but found his iron grip unyielding. "It's not a big deal, I was just testing a project I've been working on!" she protested. "When I've got the kinks worked out, this won't happen again!"

"Why didn't you say something, I can't have my technician working with damaged hands," Vegeta continued as if she hadn't said (or thought) anything. He stood then, pulling Bulma up and along with him to the designated medical room. "Come on, then, I'll fix it."

"I can fix my own injuries!" she squalled, trying to wriggle away from his pull. "And I'm not _your_ technician!"

Since his back was turned to her and she was too busy concentrating on escape attempts, Bulma didn't see the smirk that curled over Vegeta's face. He was being serious about getting her (foolishly) self-inflicted wounds fixed before she continued anymore work that day, the "my technician" bit was only insisted on because it made her mad and it was funny. Bulma didn't have to know that he wasn't being serious about the title.

"Hold still," Vegeta ordered, pushing her against regeneration tank to keep her in check while rummaging through the shelves to find the healing tonic the Herans insisted they take along.

Of course Bulma didn't hold still, but instead kicked at him while trying to pull his wrist to get his hand off her chest. Was it a Saiyan thing to not realize that touching women in certain places was impolite? It _must_ have been a Saiyan thing considering Goku and now him! She growled in frustration at how damn solidly his hand was pressed on her and only made her frustration more apparent when Vegeta turned back to her looking over the tonic curiously. Now there was a guy that had no clue about what he was looking at. Bulma rolled her eyes and explained, "It's topical, give it to me so I can put it on."

He snorted instead and dragged her over to a chair to sit her down, carefully handling the bottle as he did.

" _Vegeta_ ," Bulma sighed only putting up mild resistance when he took her wrist again to put a few drops of tonic on it. The drops sat there awkwardly, Bulma made a noise of disgust and rubbed the solution over her burns. "You have to apply topical medicine like this, dummy, do they not do that in the Frieza Force?"

Stupid question, clearly, Vegeta only stared at her as if she had said she was Frieza himself. His gaze flicked over to her progress with applying the tonic to the first set of injuries, studying what she was doing. "Don't do this again," he said suddenly.

"What, treat my own injuries?" Bulma replied sarcastically, going to take the bottle from him to work on the other arm.

Vegeta pulled the bottle up away from her reach, taking her other wrist with a softer grip than before as if he had become aware of how fragile she was compared to him.

And may the gods strike her down there, Vegeta the asshole Prince of all Saiyans began to mimic her motions with applying the tonic to her injuries. "You treat mine, first of all," he answered gruffly. "And I never asked you to."

Bulma opened her mouth to protest that generally his were much _worse_ than mild burns and superficial lacerations, but he continued: "Don't hurt yourself again."

She could not say a thing in response, nor summon up the feeling to be angry when she could sense how careful and _gentle_ he was being. It felt nice, being touched, not that she would tell him that—didn't want to make it weird when it was purely medical. "Sometimes it just happens, Vegeta," Bulma found herself saying instead of whatever vitriolic words she had before. "When you experiment, test something new, it just happens, it's not a big deal."

He paused, brow furrowing as he thought about what was said. If that was so, then why did Bulma get so upset by his own injuries in training? She _knew_ Saiyans were hardier than that and Vegeta told her as much.

"It's because you're my friend, you dumbass," she groaned, rolling her eyes and taking her arms away to cross them protectively in front of her. "I don't want to see you get hurt because I _care_ about you."

Now that had to be a lie, _nobody_ would ever say something like that to him and mean it. What kind of moron would ever say that to someone like him?

But it wasn't a lie, Bulma had never actually looked Vegeta in the eye and lied to him, if anything she had been unnecessarily honest and respectful of his autonomy outside of when he had been hurt.

Why did _she_ have to make a big deal out of it? He understood friendship to be a reciprocal thing, and she had treated his injuries, so he treated hers, that was all there was to it.

(It was the least he could do when otherwise Vegeta just took and took from her and still demanded more.)

"I didn't threaten him," Vegeta ended up saying rather than trying to voice the complicated feelings behind _but I'm not the one who has pain-suffering-death in their future, woman!_ "I asked. I asked him to show me."

"Oh…"

The cold in the absence of touch started to settle into both of them.

Bulma would have thought that of all things, Vegeta clarifying that he _didn't_ threaten her teacher wouldn't feel so uncomfortable. But it did, and she felt ashamed of assuming he had. "I'm sorry," she eventually said, standing to leave the room. "And…" She managed a smile even in the face of his bemusement at someone _apologizing_ to him for something offensive said. "Thank you for taking care of me."

It was an unexpectedly kind thing for him to hear, of course, and he didn't know how to respond besides blinking at her like an idiot.

Naturally he opened his mouth and ruined all of it with, "Well, I can't have you being unable to fix my gravity room because of your own incompetence."

The smile faded from Bulma's face, familiar rage took over and she stepped closer to him. Only instead of screaming at him or even making any of those facial expressions that amused Vegeta so much, her hand went to the back of his head—nails digging into his scalp just slightly. The sensation was so unfamiliar and unexpectedly pleasant that he hardly realized she had pressed her forehead against his before she spoke again in a low, waspish tone: "If it weren't for my 'incompetence' nothing would get done _right_ , my prince."

And just like that she was gone, leaving Vegeta with a whole disorganized tangle of unfamiliar emotions in response to her actions and words. He understood a couple of them: regret, anxiety, and isolation.

He didn't need to feel any of that, he lied to himself, she would be back to bother him again about something when she was done with fixing the bots. Probably nag at him to be more careful or that food was ready.

She did none of those things, she didn't come back. Vegeta didn't see Bulma for the rest of the hours he was awake. She only left her room once, when he was back to training. He felt her ki signal moving around the lower sector, from the eating room to the medical room, then back again. The image of Bulma's livid gaze as she repeated his foolish comment and the words _my prince_ like she didn't want to speak his name hit him in the chest over and over again as he tried to push it out of his head. It was cruel but well-deserved by Vegeta for his folly, the reaction and the mocking intonation of his title when Bulma wouldn't use it otherwise.

 _Idiot. Fucking idiot!_ his thoughts screamed at him even as he turned the gravity up to drown it out.

Incompetent! He called her incompetent! He couldn't just say what he really meant, could he? No, Vegeta had to screw it all up and insult Bulma's intelligence!

 _Fuck!_ He couldn't concentrate anymore, the damned woman and his own failure kept cycling through his mind. The gravity modulator turned off along with the lights, Vegeta seriously considered just staying there lying on the floor and staring at the ceiling.

But that was stupid, as much as he didn't want to descend into the lower sector and face the choleric atmosphere that was _his_ fault, Vegeta pulled himself up and left for his quarters, from there he managed to fumble into his bed and sleep, albeit with difficulty.

 _I shouldn't care so much. I shouldn't care that I upset some frivolous woman,_ his feverish thoughts followed him into the second day of the journey to Orui. Bulma was still in her room, still closing herself off in all respects. Vegeta paused at her door, contemplated for a moment that he should barge in no matter what she was doing, but decided against it. Even if her frosty detachment disturbed him, leaving him wishing for her defiant yelling, throwing a fit and demanding her attention was wholly undignified.

This was a mistake; the whole thing was a mistake. His fucking arrogance and pride telling him lies that he could engage the target and later kill her with no hesitance got him into this mess. _I never should have—_ repeated in his head as he went through the motions of his routine before training, abandoning the lower quarters for the gravity room as soon as possible.

Initially, when Bulma had modified his scouter, Vegeta ignored the new communication channel out of principle and went about his own business. He couldn't just go around chatting openly with lesser lifeforms, he had a reputation to maintain. After being left alone on a Frieza-approved leisure planet and a particularly frustrating day at "work," however, the concept of a channel he could pour his rage into that nobody except one woman would hear was tempting.

Vegeta wasn't certain what happened between them on Anaceo, sitting with her in an underground cavern illuminated only by phosphorous creatures. They had bantered back and forth about various technologies and the kind of work she had done already. Vegeta couldn't doubt her skill, at least, she modified his scouter right in front of him within a couple of minutes. She was funny, in her own way, witty and sarcastic with an unexpected amount of professional composure.

Yet still, there was a naïve innocence to Bulma, he observed, that could be exploited if he played his cards right. Fortune had smiled on him for once, he would have the pleasure of taking revenge _and_ humiliating his target beforehand, leaving him with the advantage towards getting stronger and her with nothing.

In the present, Vegeta paused in-between his round of sit-ups. Yes, the intention had been to exploit her before discarding the unfortunate woman. He had told himself that would be the plan, at what point did he begin to doubt himself? When did it start to change? He _always_ stuck to his plans and nobody would change his mind, what happened?

 _"You know, when I was younger I wanted to find a prince,"_ she had humorously shared with him in their third week of scouter calls.

 _"A prince?"_ Vegeta echoed, for once not immediately reminding someone of his title. _"For what, exactly?"_

Bulma laughed at the question; she laughed quite often, sometimes for no apparent reason. He was used to her laughter by that point, but something about it then felt vaguely threatening.

_"I had this stupid idea that if I found my prince I'd never be lonely again."_

_"Lonely?"_ Vegeta scoffed.

She was lonely? How was a prince supposed to solve that? She would have no use for his power or status, Bulma never talked about social climbing ambitions. Science, building things, bettering the lives of Earthlings with her inventions, yes, and she was proud of all that.

She wasn't proud of the feeling of loneliness or that it affected her in such a demeaning way, however.

_"Yeah…I'm not gonna sit here and spin some crap about how I'm an innocent angel or whatever, I've got weaknesses, flaws, all that. I just don't mope and **obsess** on it like some people do. I've got other shit to do."_

Vegeta snorted, a vague noise of agreement therein.

_"But when your family is the richest and one of the most powerful in the world…you're not exactly treated like a person so much as someone to exploit."_

It should have been a warning sign to him that she said such a thing. Bulma held nothing back about what precisely she meant; the long periods her parents would be gone, the social-climbing predators, lecherous men eyeing her at the tender age of 15, even some kidnapping attempts for ransom. All of it, a long and uncomfortable history that, Bulma confessed, nobody actually knew except immediate family.

 _"I started to think…it'd be nice if there was someone who would save me from that,"_ she trailed off wistfully.

Vegeta stared down at his fists clenched in his lap at the time. Unknown _feelings_ twisted in his stomach as he thought she was still fortunate to not be Frieza's slave, though he could acknowledge she too was a prisoner in her own life. The idea of relating to or being able to acknowledge someone else's struggle was a peculiar thing.

 _"I thought I found him when I went off on my first adventure, you know?"_ she continued.

Vegeta _didn't_ know then, but in the present he thought of the gutless male that didn't even respect her enough to give her an honorable fight like she asked for and grit his teeth. _Him_ , anything like a prince, how insulting!

_"But…he wasn't what I thought."_

_Fucking understatement right there,_ the Vegeta of the present thought while the Vegeta of the past only wondered where she was going with this.

_"So, I'm just back on another adventure, screw finding my prince this time, I don't even care about that anymore."_

_"You ran away from your life on Earth, I'd say you're spoiled,"_ he flippantly responded. Must be nice to have the _option_ to just go off somewhere alone, he thought with an eyeroll.

 _"Well, it'll all still be there when I get back,"_ she pointed out. _"And it's not like I never have to see those people again. I just put on a smile and play a part…you do, too, right?"_

His breath caught then, Vegeta in the present fell to the floor the moment his reflection broke his concentration.

She _knew_ , she knew, and she probably knew his intentions to exploit her as well. Bulma realized the intention and she saw, against all odds, that he too understood the humiliation of being _used_ despite being a selfish manipulative bastard himself.

How? That enigma bewildered him even several months after as she continued to share her time and attention with him when he had honestly done nothing to earn it. Vegeta didn't even share anything equally with her, he only took and demanded more. It wouldn't matter in the end anyway, he would kill her when he was finished.

Yet…that damned woman, there Vegeta was with immature sentiments of possessiveness wanting to _protect_ her. He couldn't offer her anything besides that in their—ugh— _friendship,_ and he would immediately wreck any hint showing that he truly gave a damn about her as a person by saying something stupid. Just a few hours ago he _almost_ told her that he was concerned about her own indifference to her health with her experiments but _of course_ he opened his big mouth and called her incompetent instead. Great, fucking fantastic, Vegeta—Prince of all Saiyans, future slayer of Frieza, galactic failure at being someone's friend.

The most infuriating part of it was that he _really_ shouldn't _care_ so much but he _did_ , dammit.

There was a flicker of the lights and a hum signifying the gravity modulator powering down that brought his attention back to the present-day. Vegeta shot up from his (pathetic staring at the ceiling) position and saw that Bulma had come up from the living quarters. They stared at each other for a good long time until Vegeta stood to cancel out the height advantage she had, though he did nothing more than that.

Bulma tilted her head slightly, a small smile like the one she gave him before on her face. She approached him, closing the space yet pausing before doing anything else. "You can tell me to stop, but it felt like you needed this," she quite perplexingly said, then pulled him into that bizarre clamping thing she called a _hug_.

Vegeta, of course, froze up like some fool that was shocked by the offering of a choice, bodily contact, and the question of _why?_

She reached up to the back of his neck with one hand, lightly scraping her nails up and down from his neck onto his scalp. He shuddered, realizing he shouldn't enjoy that so much considering all the emotional turmoil beforehand, but he _did_. Being held _should_ feel threatening, but it didn't. Not with her, anyway. No one else would _dare_ do such a thing except for Bulma.

How long had it been since he experienced touch like that? Not since his mother, he figured, but even that didn't feel like the warmth pressed upon him, a head resting on his shoulder, fingers running through his hair, a heartbeat resonating with his own. It was…good.

But he was supposed to reciprocate, wasn't he? Could he?

"You don't have to," Bulma murmured. "I'll let go now."

Vegeta might not have known how to respond to the distressing idea, but his tail did—it wrapped itself around her waist as she pulled away and pulled her _back_ against him. He wasn't sure whether he should be aggravated or happy that his goddamned tail spoke his thoughts more eloquently than him. He did curse himself that no matter _if_ he understood how he felt or not, Bulma seemed to anyway and his own weak control of his thoughts was disconcerting.

Bulma stared at the furry interloper, then gradually turned her gaze back to him with raised eyebrows. She didn't appear judgmental or annoyed, only curious at what in the universe he thought he was doing. Vegeta didn't really know himself as he stared back, frowning deeply, trying to come to a decision. Reciprocating the hug would be too much, he didn't trust himself not to squeeze hard and hurt her with such an unfamiliar gesture.

 _"You'll understand when you're older, my darling,"_ his mother's voice echoed in his head. It was in response to him asking where her pendant was, if he recalled correctly. _"Someday you'll understand **everything**."_

Yet he understood nothing.

Still, now he chose to mimic one of the touches Bulma had done before by resting his forehead against hers, raising his hand to the back of her neck—hesitating for a moment while he struggled with the knowledge that touching someone's neck usually meant death—and running his fingers along her hair.

Soft. It was soft and sweet-smelling and the whole moment felt too good to be _true_.

"I can't have my technician running off without me knowing, it isn't safe."

"Is that right?" Bulma hummed, a note of serenity in her tone, head leaning into the gesture slightly and eyes closing lazily.

She liked it, so it was good, it was a good thing and an easier way to return the favor of physical contact until he…didn't know, became used to even having physical contact that didn't hurt? It was so much already, Vegeta couldn't believe that _he_ of all people was doing something that wasn't hurting another person and he was very much _fine_ with it not hurting. _Glad_ it didn't hurt, even.

"If that's the case, my pain in the ass friend needs to be clearer about what he means." Bulma paused, eyes opening and expression turning serious as she looked at him. "I won't judge you for it, being…" She wanted to say worried, though she knew Vegeta would immediately protest and deny that he was. "Troubled. It's normal for friends to do that."

Friends. They were friends and he was disturbingly satisfied with that. It shouldn't have happened, _he_ shouldn't have a _friend,_ or anybody close to him. Though…he thought of his mother again. She didn't hold him after Tarble was taken away. The Queen could barely look at him without pain entering her eyes. He had supposed when he was a child that she didn't want to look at a boy who resembled the man who killed her son so closely, and subsequently pushed down how much that wounded him. Now he understood she didn't want him to see her vulnerable like that, she didn't want to burden him with her grief, and there was no guarantee Vegeta wouldn't be taken away as well. It wasn't as though King Vegeta tried to comfort her, either (he had never witnessed anything like what he was doing with Bulma between his parents at that). Her heart had shattered beyond repair, he realized, and wasn't that just the absolute proof of sentiment being a thing of ruination…? Especially for a Saiyan, an _elite_ Saiyan.

Bulma huffed, almost thought to roll her eyes at Vegeta's anxious thoughts about sentimentality ( _oh no! Not feelings!)_ Instead she brought his attention back to the here and now by saying, "She was beautiful."

His mother, she meant, though Vegeta blinked at her for a second and vaguely mouthed confused words.

"She was strong," Vegeta replied eventually, eyes moving away from hers with discomfort.

"Is that the only value a person can have?" she sighed _really_ rolling her eyes that time. "How well they fight?"

"Strength is everything, of course!" he argued, backing away as if to properly make an offended gesture at her.

Unfortunately, since his tail was still wrapped around her waist, Bulma ended up stumbling onto him while being dragged along, throwing them both off-balance and right to the floor.

"Ah, I see," Bulma said, pushing herself up and accepting that she was now in a very awkward position of straddling her dumb Saiyan friend. "Saiyans must have left behind grace and foresight in evolution." She _knew_ that a position like this would bother him more in the sense of being held down and finding that threatening, yet his damn tail wouldn't let her move very much more. "I guess I don't know where that leaves someone like me, since I'm not a superhuman-strong brawler."

"I-it—" he stuttered, squirming, sitting up and forcing his tail to let go so Bulma could move. She was right, it made him _very_ uncomfortable to be held down at all and a part of him appreciated that awareness while a smaller part protested it wasn't all _that_ bad with her. "Strength doesn't just mean _fighting_."

She paused, now sitting _next_ to Vegeta as opposed to on him, almost not believing that she had heard him say such a thing.

"My mother was a strong Saiyan," Vegeta clarified. "You're a strong Earthling."

Oh, well wasn't that nice of him to say? Bulma nonetheless held her breath to see if he would follow it up with his lack of brain to mouth filter and completely undo it.

He only stared at her before crossing his arms and looking away petulantly.

Nope, no big mouth misfortune that time, though him pouting like a two-year-old was a bit of a mood-killer as well. Bulma sighed and leaned over to ruffle the hair on the back of his head before standing to leave. "At any rate, I'm done with my project, so you don't have to fuss about that anymore. I'll let you get back to your training."

Was she leaving already? Caught between the almost-reaction of leaning into her parting gesture and abruptly feeling the loss of contact, Vegeta only sat on the floor like a moron staring after her.

She turned back, sensing his confusion, and smiled. "If you want, we can hang out when you're done training. I wanted to ask you some stuff about Orui anyway."

He nodded in return and mumbled something about wanting to know the details of her latest project. They had spoken to each other in person before, of course, outside of arguing; usually it would be while Bulma was working on something or fixing the gravity room. He would watch, ask what she was doing, how it worked, and she would reply in kind. They would never be equals in physical strength due to Saiyan biology, but curiosity and technological lines between aliens was where her real strength lay. Vegeta would share what he knew and Bulma would excitedly theorize about how to replicate or even improve what was out there.

It was strangely novel seeing someone become excited and talk so much in his presence with no mind to his reputation.

But they always sat apart from each other in those meetings, after this…what would happen? Would she expect or initiate touching again?

"We don't have to do that if you're not comfortable with it," Bulma's insistence intruded on his anxious thoughts. "I just…am used to touching, that's all."

Even with him? _Knowing_ about the (involuntary! Very involuntary!) kissing dreams?

"Vegeta, it happens," she sighed, somehow still maintaining patience despite how clueless he was. "It's normal. I've had dreams about stuff like that too, and more."

 _"But I'm not normal,"_ died on his tongue at the words _"And more_." He wasn't _normal_ , but she experienced things like that too? His stomach felt like it did a flip as he digested the words fully. It happened to _her,_ too.

With him?

No way.

Yes, with him. The way she was looking at him said as much. (There was a weird one once with Raditz, not that Bulma would share any of _that_.)

So, it was…usual, even if you were friends with someone to have dreams like that. It didn't mean anything, it was just a combination of natural urges and being very familiar with another person. The illusion that Vegeta was above vulgar things by virtue of his birth crumbled around him while Bulma watched him with a measure of concern.

(Though if he was inclined to be honest, it had been a lost cause a long time ago believing that.)

Despite him experiencing a crisis, she continued: "But…I know you're not used to stuff like that. If you wanted to try it so you _can_ get used to it, I'm not going to freak out or make fun of you. Or tell anyone. It's your choice, okay?"

A choice again. Vegeta _could_ continue exploring contact he had missed out on if he wanted or it could remain an isolated incident.

Bulma knew, of course, about his misgivings though she would never be able to physically harm him; she had something much more fragile in her hands in the form of Vegeta's trust. And he _hated_ knowing that he trusted someone.

"Don't think about it so much, please?" she implored him, which made something twist in his chest. "Just concentrate on your training, all right?"

He looked away and crossed his arms, feeling like the gravity had been turned back on except all the weight was in his stomach. "…All right."

Despite the weight he felt, there wasn't an expectation to come to a decision right away. He shouldn't _need_ her validation, he should resent the freedom he felt from her reassurance that there weren't expectations.

But he didn't, Vegeta only nodded to her as she left.

Bulma should have felt immense pressure and anxiety from the knowledge that a person like Vegeta genuinely trusted her, and she did. She didn't want to mess up and wreck the gift she was given by overstepping her boundaries too quickly.

For the present, however, she had a criminal to track and her own training to keep up on. The puzzle of her friend, while it was going to come up again, would have to wait. Despite reminding herself of her current duties, she still paused and considered his turbulent thoughts about contact. What if he _did_ want to explore those things? Bulma had a curiosity and desire to explore herself, but she wouldn't force that on Vegeta—especially not when _basic_ contact threw him into such a tizzy. No, her own desires would have to go on the backburner once again. Suddenly having the responsibility of introducing an alien to contact he missed out on wasn't what Bulma expected out of her life, especially an alien that she wasn't dating and had (more than once) declared that he was going to kill her.

 _Eh, fuck it. This might as well happen,_ she thought with a shrug, pulling up the tracking monitor. _It's not my job to think about—_

A signal appearing put a halt to any of her thoughts, she straightened up and watched the dimly pulsing light. It moved sluggishly across the screen while Bulma scrambled to match up the coordinates to her map.

"Mosto," she opened up a message channel on her scouter. "I'm getting a beacon on the Crushers, coordinates match the Anaceo quadrant."

Instead of Mosto, an unfamiliar and sinister voice chuckled in response, causing a shudder to run through that froze her blood.

"Who's that?!" Bulma snapped back, trying to hide how frightened the very sound of the stranger made her. "This is a Galactic Patrol channel, who the hell are you?!"

 _"Ooooh, the Galactic Patrol is hiring women now?"_ the voice jeered back, something perverse implied in the tone. _"Are you the little mouse that's been playing tag on my scouter? I was wondering what's been mixing up the signals."_

The backwards talking and speaking of _games_ sounded very familiar as a pattern—

"Turles, I assume?" she said, already feeling every muscle tense in her body as if she was preparing for a fight.

He laughed and continued in that patronizing tone, _"A clever one! Now that sounds like trouble."_

He was mocking her! Bulma's hands balled into fists though she was looking around the pile of _stuff_ she had accumulated while working to find her GP-issued communicator. "Turles," she growled, rage at remembering what Raditz told her of the hedonistic Saiyan and her own fear of just his _voice_ fueling her words. "Laugh all you want, you've got a thrashing coming to you courtesy of Bulma Briefs—there won't be anything left when I'm done!"

 _"Whoa there, girl,"_ Turles snorted, seemingly unaffected by the threat. _"Don't start the sweet-talk so soon, I might get excited."_

There was a pause, Bulma tried to ignore the shiver of revulsion that went through her body again at his tone.

_"I lied. I'm already excited. Tag, **Bulma Briefs** , you're it."_

The line went dead, Bulma screamed her outrage at the unresponsive scouter, her ki rising in tandem with her anger. _That **bastard!** That sick fucker! He thinks this is a game?!_

The sensation of being held by her shoulders pulled Bulma out of the on-coming rage, she turned back to find Vegeta looking at her in faint alarm. "Take a deep breath," he said, grip on her shoulders loosening for a moment to take her hands. "Bulma, do you hear me? Take a deep breath and calm down."

"Don't tell me what to do!" she snapped, anger flaring up higher at being spoken to like a _child_. "We need to—" She struggled to pull away from him and reach for her communicator again. "We need to go back! We have to get to Anaceo before Turles does!"

"No," Vegeta said firmly, scowling at her escape attempts and protests.

"No?!" Bulma shrieked, cursing him and everything he stood for, struggling harder. "What do you mean _no?!_ I have to—"

"No." He pushed her, directing Bulma to her bed and setting her down on it as if she was a kid being put into timeout.

"Vegeta!" she protested, watching him pick up her communicator. She should have questioned _how_ he was able to work something that wasn't similar to the scouters in build, but the sound of Tyber's voice and Vegeta beginning a conversation with him halted that thought.

"She said the monitors picked up activity near Anaceo," he spoke into the communicator with an ease that really shouldn't be considering he was a Frieza Force soldier using GP technology. "Yes. She's here, she wanted to intercept him." A pause while he listened, Vegeta scoffed: "Of _course_ I'm not letting her do that. Turles intercepted a call to the Namek and riled her up."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here!" Bulma yelled.

He turned an unimpressed look to her, then held up the communicator so Tyber's voice could be heard more clearly: _" **Bulma Briefs**. You know better than to take obvious bait."_

Bulma fell silent, staring down at her hands on her knees, face burning in shame.

_"I'm ordering you to stay the course, leave the Crushers to us. Understand?"_

She pressed her lips together, wanting very much to argue being told what to do.

_" **Bulma**."_

"Yes sir, order received," she mumbled, anger and shame wrestling fiercely in her chest.

Vegeta ended the call, then moved the pile of clothes on her bed to sit next to her, wrinkling his nose at the disarray. "How do you work in conditions like this?" He gestured to the various piles of discarded cans, clothes, and empty ramen cups. (She wouldn't have taken Vegeta to be a neat freak but considering his military background, it made sense, Frieza probably didn't abide by messes.)

Bulma didn't answer, still staring at her hands in furious silence.

"Bulma."

She continued to ignore him. He sighed, muttered something about stubborn females as expected of him.

What was not expected was Vegeta holding out his hand to her.

He was looking away and his expression was surly, of course, but the invitation was clear.

Carefully, Bulma took the prince's calloused, scarred hand and twined her fingers into his. He obviously wasn't sure of what to do but cautiously returned the gesture with a gentle squeeze. The cold fear that froze her blood began to melt away with the familiar heat from Vegeta.

It was such a bizarre thing, holding someone's hand, especially with intent to comfort rather than bring pain. He stared down at their joined hands, struck by the differences just visually—small, cool, and pale against big, warm, and tanned. No scars against multiple. Delicate against beaten. And she had _no_ reservations about it, she only sighed and leaned against his shoulder.

"Thanks," she mumbled, half-annoyed that she was truly grateful for Vegeta's presence and support.

He simply grunted in response, unsure of how or if he even should voice his displeasure at how Turles talked to her and the idea of her ever confronting him. It shouldn't happen, he decided, the other Patrollers could go and die in that fool's errand but Bulma could _not_ ever meet with Turles.

_Suffering, pain, death._

Bulma reaching up and ruffling his hairline broke him out of the vivid thoughts of what kind of torment she would suffer if caught by someone like Turles. "What the hell?!" he growled, abruptly feeling the sensation of _itching_ on his forehead from his rearranged hair brushing against it.

"Holy crap," she said instead of telling Vegeta what the hell. "You brushed back your bangs? Seriously? I was wondering what that was about."

"It's none of your business!" Vegeta pushed his hair back up, face turning red much to her amusement and his deepening annoyance. "Vulgar woman!"

One day left.

 

* * *

  


Though Raditz didn't expect to end up back at Kua's bar, it was a lot more enjoyable the second time around. There were no uncomfortable debates or shouting, not even the usual rowdiness that Nappa would display when drinking was involved. Mosto and Tyber had come with them initially, the Patrollers left about ten minutes into the casual meeting. When fifteen minutes went by without them coming back, Raditz began to wonder what the holdup was. It irritated him that he noticed and was inexplicably bothered by their absence. It wasn't like he had very much fondness towards the Namek or the sentimental Saiyan, they were only Patrollers.

Only Patrollers. They didn't matter to him. It wasn't like he was curious about what Tyber said he would show him when he had successfully completed tail training. It wasn't like he _appreciated_ Mosto's advice about breathing to work through the pain. It wasn't as if he realized they both were important to _a friend_ (!) of his and was concerned about her feelings.

He had been feeling concerned quite a lot more lately. He didn't like it. His instinct to run nagged at him daily now.

"Nappa?" he turned to the larger Saiyan downing his fourth malted Milky Way. "Did something happen to them?"

"Who?" Nappa first mumbled in a vague daze, then righted himself. "Oh, Tyber said something about taking a call. It sounded like official GP business."

"I see…"

Did calls take so long usually? Raditz asked Launch at his right—from what she told him communication mostly took place via transmissions similar to scouters on Earth. (Though she called it a "tellyfun.")

"They can take longer sometimes," she—blonde, yet sober—answered as she nursed her (one) drink. "Are ya worried about 'em?"

"Who, me?" Raditz held up his hands defensively, shaking his head as if that would truly convince her. "No, no! Not at all, I couldn't care less."

Only, it was something that brought an ugly scowl to even the composed Namekian's face when Tyber had turned a look to him. He knew that the two—being not only comrades in the Patrol but mentor and student—communicated telepathically. Whatever it was…whatever it was…

Launch's hand on his arm startled Raditz out of his thoughts. "Let's go check on 'em, huh?" she suggested with a meaningful smile.

Even after all the time he had spent living a double life of working for Frieza and spending his free time with the people who _hid_ from Frieza, the concept of being regarded as someone's friend, someone such a kind look was directed to, shook him to his core.

"Well…fine then, if you insist," Raditz answered with an affected nonchalance, allowing her to take his arm and lead him out of the bar.

Anaceo was an unusual planet, though it had a sun night tended to last for long periods due to its twin moons. Nocturnal creatures thrived there, and alien natives mostly lived under its oceans that absolutely covered the planet, leaving only about 20% landmass. Earth, from what Launch told him, wasn't so different in its land to water ratio—and he knew, of course, having visited Earth before. He recalled those blue oceans and blue sky, thinking it was strange that the _oceans_ were blue as well as the sky. How did Earthlings tell the difference? He had never seen such a thing on other planets before. Raditz had only ever encountered green seas or blood-red, as off-putting as that was and Anaceo's oceans were a deep purple.

Unsurprisingly, the amount of water and infrequent sunlight left the planet a little chillier than others, despite her jacket Launch huddled close to his side as a breeze passed over. Apparently despite humans being warm-blooded, they were feeble enough to become cold easily. How in the universe did they ever survive?

"Sorry," she said to him, now practically pressed into his side.

That was another thing humans did that was so strange to Raditz, they apologized and expressed remorse _a lot_.

"Don't be," he responded with a casual one-armed shrug. He didn't find her gesture threatening or bothersome—Launch couldn't _do_ anything to harm him physically, and unlike most Saiyans Raditz _was_ used to bodily closeness with people he knew. (The kind that _didn't_ include sex or fighting, which was an important detail to add when conversing with a Saiyan.) Gine was quite open with gestures of physical affection no matter how abnormal it looked for a Saiyan mother to go around holding her children. Bardock used to tease that Raditz would never learn to walk on his own if she didn't quit coddling him.

Launch interrupted his reflection by changing the subject: "How's the tail trainin' been?"

"Hurts like _hell_ ," he said bluntly. Nappa worked him mercilessly and, of course, he didn't want her to witness something simultaneously demeaning for him and distressing for her. "But Nappa says I'm progressing faster than he thought I would."

( _For a third-class_ , Nappa had added but Raditz wouldn't say. The Saiyan caste system was a concept that just couldn't get through the Earthlings' heads, they seemed to believe everyone was on equal merits at birth for _some_ reason.)

"That's good, right?" Launch encouraged with one of her characteristic (for both sides) smiles. "Sooner you get it done, sooner you won't have ta worry about it!"

"Oh yeah," Raditz sighed, a faint smile coming to his face regardless. "I wouldn't have thought it would ever come up, I mean, nobody lasts long enough against me to get to my tail usually."

"Yeeeeah…sorry," Launch bypassed the implication that Raditz more often than not killed before letting anyone come close.

"Stop that, I told you I'm over it!"

Humans were biologically very similar to Saiyans but did not have tails; apparently their bodies naturally produced genes that presented different looks in all of their ensuing offspring, and whatever didn't work for survival or whatever needs they had was done away with in the life cycle. Bulma had called it "genetic diversity" and theorized in that case humans could breed with another species as long as they had similar parts. It didn't just lead to different hair colors and eye colors, though, somewhere along the evolution path humans lost their tails yet _did_ have them at some point.

Honestly, the Saiyans still didn't understand how humans not only thrived but ended up the top predators on Earth.

 _"Hey, humans can be violent and territorial, too,"_ Bulma mysteriously said once. _"We do whatever it takes to survive."_

Survival apparently didn't mean common sense about tails; then again if they were stupid enough to lose theirs he supposed they would remain hopeless.

"Ha, typical guy, thinkin' about nothin' but tail!" Launch teased when he mentioned how hopeless humans were without their tails.

Raditz frowned, feeling like there was some double-meaning in her statement. Humans didn't _have_ tails, after all, why and how would human men have a fixation on them?

Perhaps human men felt the desire to have a tail more strongly than females, he supposed and would have blurted out as if it was a genuinely brilliant theory if Nappa didn't announce he was there.

"You kids getting up to double entendres without me?" His large and somewhat-buzzed form lumbered into step with them.

It sounded more like "dumble ontands" when he tried to say it in the state he was in, which brought a smirk to Raditz's face.

"Hey, old man!" Launch greeted, reaching up and slapping Nappa's shoulder. Of course with the difference of size between them, it probably only felt like a feathery brush to him. "Nah, Raditz wanted t'check on Mosto and Tyber."

"I—" Raditz opened his mouth to protest that he felt the need to do such a thing at all when Nappa made a low growling noise of consideration.

"Yeah, me too," he said, halting any objections Raditz might have made. "Tyber was acting weird, even Mosto was as well. Something happened." He leaned forward and sniffed the air. "And _that_ , do you smell that, Raditz?"

No, not until he mimicked Nappa's action; past the smell of saltwater, Launch's shampoo, and lingering alcohol, he found what the older Saiyan was referring to—the metallic tang of blood hit his nose and punched him in the stomach. "Oh no!" he burst, straightening up.

Launch looked between them, visibly alarmed and questioning what it was they had picked up on.

"But…" Raditz pushed aside the initial panic and the idle thought that humans really were hopeless if they couldn't even scent blood in the air. "It's not Saiyan blood." He knew that for certain, after the time his mother spent patching up his father and her own work in meat preparation Raditz was very well acquainted with different scents of blood. And he was, much to his chagrin, _relieved_ that at least one of the Patrollers for certain was accounted for unharmed.

Not that Raditz would ever mention such a thing aloud, his _completely insane_ friend pulling out the gun she had holstered and sprinting forward distracted him from acknowledging any kind of sentiment. "Launch!" he gasped.

"Blondie!" Nappa exclaimed at the same time.

"I ain't just gonna stand around, boys!" Launch called over her shoulder, flipping the switch to the highest setting for the gun (of course one of the hellish abominations Bulma created).

Neither Saiyan ever thought they would have the reaction to pursue someone in order to _protect_ them, yet Raditz and Nappa dashed off after the madwoman anyway. It was surreal, going forward to keep someone safe and to ensure that other people were still alive, Nappa didn't appear bothered though Raditz had to push aside his own fear and impulse to run in the opposite direction. Fortunately, they reached Launch in a tenth of a second with Raditz grasping her shoulders to pull her back while Nappa observed the scene they had stumbled upon.

"Holy shit…" Raditz heard him breathe. "What happened here, Mosto?"

It was the gasp of his friend, however, that brought his attention forward quicker than Nappa's statement.

Dark indigo blood pooled around the piles of flesh it once belonged to, the Namekian stood in the middle of the gore nonchalantly flicking the blood off his hand.

If asked, Raditz would say his jaw only dropped in surprise at the carnage, it wasn't at _all_ shocking that a Namekian of all things carried out the act.

Not in the slightest.

 _I thought they were supposed to be peaceful!_ His thoughts screamed in contradiction to any bravado he would have hypothetically shown. His mental image of not just how Patrollers but _Namekians_ were supposed to act like was now tarnished irreparably.

"I am fine," Mosto intoned calmly, gesturing to the _whatever_ it was around him. "Two of the Crushers would not cooperate, I was provoked into using deadly force." His other arm, previously out of view, raised up to show the bloodied stump where his forearm once was. "They gave me some trouble."

Raditz stepped back, covering his mouth and trying to force down the revulsion at seeing such a thing. It got no better as another forearm _burst_ from the stump, prompting a shriek from Launch, a curse from Nappa, and Raditz retching.

"I apologize for that," the Namekian said regretfully. "But I am in a hurry, Tyber went ahead and I must go to him."

To be fair to Mosto, he _did_ sound genuinely contrite, though the stiff and formal tone didn't suit him at all. If Raditz recalled correctly, Bulma told him that he only spoke that way in very stressful situations—it seemed appropriate then as Mosto shot off like a bolt of lightning without another word. The thought of Tyber managed to shake the disturbing image of Namekian regeneration out of Raditz's head, the _mention_ of Tyber had Nappa following after Mosto with a look of alarm that spoke concern. Both things had Launch grabbing at Raditz's arm with a stubborn frown.

"You're not leavin' me behind!" she announced, gripping his arm far too tightly to even be possible considering her petite form. "Bulma's not here, so I gotta protect her teacher for her!"

"All right, all right," he sighed, carefully lifting her by the small of her back. "And holster that gun! Put the safety back on!"

"Geez, Raditz, you're so gun-shy," Launch snickered, doing as he asked nonetheless and holding him around the neck to hoist herself up.

"Was that a pun?! Don't make me drop you!"

It didn't stop her from laughing at him, and as tempting as it was they both knew Raditz wouldn't actually drop her. There was no way a gun like that would affect him like it had when he was a child anyway, he didn't know why he persisted in feeling so strange around them.

"I mean, if I got shot in the face when I was a kid, I'd be kinda fucked up, too," Launch commented.

"You'd be dead," Raditz retorted, pausing in the air to survey what was going on below them. "Huh…what does that look like to you?"

She leaned over, unwittingly giving Raditz a mouthful of her hair as she looked. "It looks like there's two guys in addition to our boys. One's down, one's—ah shit, drop me!"

"What?!" Raditz spat, both in shock at her statement and trying to get her blasted hair out of his face.

"Just do it!" She pulled out her gun, clicking off the safety. At the sight of it, of course, Raditz dropped Launch. In a split second he realized what he had done, much to his horror, and reached out to grab her by the back of the shirt until a light and a loud explosion forced him back and Launch rocketing right into Raditz. "Holy shit, that packs a punch!" she laughed, again not realizing that Raditz had unfortunately ended up with a mouthful of hair.

"Mrffmfm." Raditz had a comment, he thought, but it was difficult to talk around a mass of blonde curls and attempting to process the very real and very frightening moment where he thought he had sent a friend to her death. He spat out the obstruction, shifting Launch's position so she was facing him, then began their descent to the singed crater that once was the ground. "You're insane, do you know that?"

"I definitely know that," she agreed, gesturing to the crater, "But look, Tyber was hurtin' and that guy was gonna wreck 'im, I _had_ to do it!"

" _What_ guy?" he asked in exasperation, waving his free hand to the crater. "There's nothing left now! And what if you hit 'our boys' too?"

"Nah. Bulma tested that gun on Tyber, it ain't enough to kill him so Nappa and Mosto are good."

That…was quite a strategy to employ in reaction, he thought as he released the trigger-happy havoc maker. Earth women were something else, weren't they?

Nappa waving and Mosto trying to heft up Tyber looked eerily serene next to the crater where the two offenders once were. "Is Tyber all right?" Raditz found himself asking, wondering why in the world he cared.

(Probably for the same reason Launch did, he realized, because the officer meant a lot to Bulma.)

"I'm fine," Tyber mumbled despite the nasty burns and gashes. "Sprained something, probably. A couple of somethings."

"We'll get you into the ship's tank," Mosto reassured him before turning a serious look to Raditz and Launch. "Did you just use GP tech in a gratuitous fashion?"

"Yeah, so what?" Launch challenged him, putting her hands on her hips while Raditz hoped he wasn't really being associated with the reckless female. "He was in trouble! So I shot the fucker!"

"Ah, well…" Mosto looked at the smoking crater. "After Cacao was down, Daiz really would have been nothing, but…" He shrugged. "I suppose we can tell Bulma that her work is contributing all the more to taking down the Crushers than we thought."

"We _missed_ that?" Raditz groaned. "Really? I wanted to see how her ridiculous tool would have worked on the robot!"

"It was _hilarious_ ," Nappa grinned, waving to the crater, "The thing just totally disassembled, I wish I had a camera."

The moment of repose seemed too good to be true, Raditz glanced up at the horizon beyond where they stood, over the ocean. "Where is Turles, then?"

Nothing answered him but the sound of waves and the sound of Tyber's heavy panting from exertion. Raditz shifted his weight, becoming more and more paranoid as he looked around the cold landscape, Launch resumed holding onto his arm though he wished she hadn't—if something attacked it wouldn't be as easy for him to assess the situation and…go from there. He wouldn't ( _couldn't_ ) protect her.

"Bulma, huh?" a snide voice that sent jolts of fear directly up Raditz's spine cut into the quiet calm of their surroundings. "I guess I should have taken her threat to thrash me more seriously, then!"

 _Oh_. He knew that voice, he remembered. He remembered the look of disgust his father would gain whenever he was forced to listen to the owner of that voice. Raditz, shuddering, pushing Launch back away from him and towards the others, faced the man who the Patrol had been hunting.

"And you," the man jeered, looking over Raditz up and down. "You're Bardock's boy, aren't you?"

"Turles."

It was as if he had been frozen in time since the last time Raditz saw him. Like Bardock, _like Father_ , too much like him, yet distinctly _wrong_ with his washed-out almost sickly skin color and the leer plastered on his face. "Pfft…you don't look like half the man your father was, little Raditz," he scoffed.

Every time he spoke there was some debauched lilt behind the tone that always set Raditz's teeth on edge. He disliked the way Turles's eyes roved over him, then moved to Launch who pointed her gun regardless of being pushed back.

"What'd you do to Bulma, you freak?!" Launch growled, trying to put on a brave face though Raditz heard (and felt) the tremble in her voice at the sight of someone who _looked_ like a person dear to her.

"Nothing," Turles chuckled with a careless shrug. "She kept playing with my scouter mixing up the signals, I just happened to finally catch her long enough for a chat."

Another man, much taller than him, had come up beside the Saiyan in the meantime. The man didn't look _wrong_ in the same way Turles did, the imposing height and sneer of contempt almost seemed normal next to the kind of aberration Turles was. Not that Raditz would dare to assume this man—whom he figured to be Amond—was any better than the leader of the Crushers. He, too, watched Launch with a leer, prompting the reaction of Raditz shoving her further back from their line of sight. "These guys are Saiyans like you, huh Turles?" he said. "Except the Namek and maybe the girl."

"Of course, it's General Nappa and little Raditz, but—" He paused, stepping forward, brushing past Raditz and Launch as though they weren't even there to grab Tyber by the chin and force him to look him in the eye. "I don't know you."

Mosto bared his teeth threateningly, to Raditz it looked like he was genuinely ready to _bite_ Turles as he spoke: "Get your hand _off_ of him!"

Tyber said nothing, the loss of blood was probably making him feel lightheaded at that point. Nappa stepped forward to stand at Tyber's other side, all menacing aura and ready to fight should something happen. "You heard him, you lowlife deserter."

"Oh, wait!" the felonious Saiyan disregarded everything going on around him, feigning a surprised expression. "I know! I recognize those eyes—Rogi, wasn't it?" He tilted his head, smirking at the wheeze of fright that came from Tyber. "Only, you're much smaller than rumored, and younger, aren't you?"

Nappa, losing his patience, snapped Turles's wrist up in his grip away from Tyber. "It's none of your business! Get the hell out of here!" Unlike Raditz, who still stood there shivering in fear, the older Saiyan was all rage and readiness.

Turles hummed in disinterest, waving off Nappa's gesture and stepping back. "Right, this planet isn't suitable Amond—there's too much water. That and," he turned a smug grin back to his cohort, "They serve sake here, it'd be a waste to wreck this planet."

"Ah, you and your sake," Amond sighed, shaking his head. "You're not even going to pay them back for what they did?"

Raditz remembered that Turles probably would have let his own mother drown if it meant getting his way on something, he confirmed being the same as ever by shrugging. "Why? If they were all so weak they got taken down by a slug and a little girl's toys, it seems more like we should be recruiting _her_ , doesn't it?"

His indifference to the deaths of his comrades sent a shudder through the group, chillier than the breeze that passed over again, as the two remaining Crushers left the scene—leaving the Patrollers plus bystanders with an unease that couldn't be shaken.

Launch held up her gun to the spot where they once were, hands still trembling, shaky breaths coming from her. "What…what was that, Raditz?" she finally stammered, a look of abject terror and confusion in her eyes. "Wh-why did that guy look like _Goku_?"

 _You're asking me that and not why I didn't protect you?_ Raditz thought, staring miserably back at her. He was too scared to protect her—she seemed more intent on protecting _him_ at that. What kind of warrior did that make him that he had to be protected by a weaker lifeform…?

"Let's…let's get Tyber to the ship before anything else," he said rather than trying to voice his ego-crushing musings. "Wh-whatever he wanted, he didn't find it here."

None of them were able to stand up to Turles when the time came, it seemed. But why? What was it about him that felt so _wrong_ and unsettling? He wasn't so cocksure before, Nappa explained as they went—Turles had a problem with taking orders, he constantly shirked his duties and most of all looked for the easy way out. The way he boldly challenged them and casually touched Tyber spoke of an attitude belonging to someone much more powerful than he _should_ be.

Launch took the encounter the hardest, Raditz's intuition told him, though she wanted to appear stronger than she was her hands still shook as she held the borrowed gun. "Why…" he heard her whisper over and over. "Why did he look like Goku?"

_And what is he going to do to Bulma?_

A thought they both shared.

Raditz didn't have any answers or comforting words for his friend, however. He only held his arm out to her, an invitation for her to grab on and warm the fear out of her which she took gladly. What a fucking pair they made, an audacious woman no stronger than a Saiyan infant and a craven man strong but still _not strong enough_.

Never strong enough.

Never good enough.

His father wouldn't have cowered the way he had. Kakarot probably wouldn't have, either.

_At least Kakarot would have had the courage to protect his friend._

_  
_

* * *

__

  


It was the same dream as before, Frieza holding her by a chain of ki around her neck and pulling her like a dog. All Bulma could see in the dimly lit room was a throne at the center and the eyes of shadowy figures watching. Just watching, forming a hall-like path for her to be dragged through by the monster.

 _Let me go!_ She wanted to scream, but the collar would tighten around her neck and strangle the breath out of her.

 _"Now don't fuss, my pet,"_ Frieza laughed, giving another sharp _tug_ to the chain. _"Staying quiet and doing what I say will be much better for you in the long run. Your **friend** would know."_

At "your friend" she caught a familiar gaze—dark eyes belonging to a man half-shadowed but still recognizable.

 _Help me!_ Bulma tried to cry out as Frieza dragged her. _"Ve…geta—"_ she managed to sob, realizing in despair he was turning his eyes downward. _"Help…"_

 _"He **can't** ," _came Frieza's taunt.

Vegeta turned a helpless, guilty look to her then, the angry red burns around his neck practically glowing in the dark.

Too late. Too arrogant. Too weak. Now she too suffered the reality Vegeta had day after day.

Another sharp tug forced a strangled scream that startled her awake in the dark silence of her room only broken up by her harsh breathing. Bulma groaned, sitting up and carding her fingers through her sweat-damp hair. The nightmare was already slipping through her mind like trying to hold water in her hands as she reached out and groped around for her scouter. Good, she thought, she didn't need a nightmare floating around in her head and interfering with her work. There was too much on her mind anyway as she watched the clock on her scouter shift into the first day of December.

When would she bring the Saiyans to Earth? How would she work out the meeting between Raditz and Goku?

Why did all of her problems center on _Saiyans_ now? It was ridiculous, but she left Raditz hanging long enough and he deserved closure there.

Although…

"Raditz? Are you there?" she spoke into her scouter after thumbing through to the channel she used to talk to him.

It took a moment of shuffles and clattering noises before Raditz answered: _"I'm here, what is it?"_

What a loaded question, Bulma had several things to discuss with him—like what happened to Turles? From the report Mosto submitted, he escaped along with Amond, the rest of the Crushers were eradicated but Tyber was injured. He softened the blow of disappointment and concern (or tried to) by saying that if Turles was looking for suitable ground for his tree, he didn't find it at the moment. That, and Bulma's device for disassembling Cacao worked. The "victory" rang hollow in her heart with Tyber being hurt and Turles getting away nonetheless.

"Is…" she made herself speak before she could get caught up in her thoughts. "Is everyone all right over there?"

 _"Yes,"_ he said, tone carrying an inquisitive note. _"Tyber recovered, no one else was hurt. Launch really pushed it, though, she did some serious damage with that gun of yours."_

Bulma giggled, a quiet noise that seemed out of place in the solitude of her room. "In that case, I'd better work on making it more powerful for Turles."

An uncomfortable pause hung between them, Raditz took a breath like he was going to say something but stopped himself.

"Raditz—"

_"Bulma—"_

Another pause, waiting for the other to finish their thought. Bulma tried again, "Raditz, I'm sorry it's been taking so long. You know…with my promise about Goku."

 _"You never actually **promised** me anything,"_ he huffed, sounding perplexed and a little irritated at her statement.

He likely never got many honest apologies in his life, she soldiered on through the oblivious Saiyan wall regardless. "But I mean it! I mean it, I want you and Goku to meet."

 _"Well…thanks."_ The word sounded as muddled as his attempt at a genuine apology.

"If I…" Bulma ventured an idea, looking up to the ceiling where the upper level lay beyond the barrier. "If I told you I was going to bring Vegeta to Earth for his training…and I wanted you to come along, like…come with me and Launch to the tournament Goku's gonna be in. What would you think?"

_"I would think you're insane to think you could pull that off under Frieza's nose!"_

His honest reaction startled a laugh out of her, further annoying the Saiyan. _"I mean it!"_ he insisted. _"How the hell would you get that past Frieza? Even our leave times wouldn't—"_

"I have an idea," Bulma interjected before he could become too heated.

_"An **idea**? What if it doesn't work?"_

"But what if it does?" she argued. "What if it does and you _could_ come to Earth with us?"

He didn't answer for a long moment, his breathing being the only sign that he didn't hang up. _"What if he hates me?"_ he finally said, the pitch of anxiety making itself known. _"You both have told me he's a good kid, if he knew—"_

"Then don't _tell_ him right now!" Bulma sighed, waving her hand though Raditz couldn't see her. "Just keep your big mouth shut about what you _do_ and talk to him about other stuff!"

_"Other…stuff?"_

_God! This just gets better and better!_ "Raditz, oh my god, just talk to him like you would talk to us."

_"Like insulting you and getting clocked?"_

Again, his bluntness startled her, leaving no room for a reaction. "Uh…if that works, yeah." Either way, Goku would probably be blissfully oblivious to insults, she added. "Just—think of something you can relate on," she then suggested trying to encourage the anxious alien. "It can't be that hard, you've got a brain and a mouth, use them!"

 _"I'll try…"_ Raditz said in a doubtful tone as if Bulma told him the pool wasn't cold at all. _"Um. Hey, I left something out when I told you about Turles."_

"What, besides that he's a creep?" she asked, realizing much to her annoyance the images of the nightmare were slithering back into her mind.

_"Well, he—"_

The ship jolting and the scouter flying out of Bulma's hands stopped the conversation dead in its tracks as she screamed, trying to right herself in the new angle her environment took.

 _"What happened?! Bulma! Answer me!"_ the now tinny and faraway voice of Raditz tried to bring her back to reality as she lurched to her feet, finding that she kept sliding regardless.

Bulma pulled her center of gravity back forcefully by taking flight, zipping out of her room to the upper level to yell at the pain in the ass prince who stood nonchalantly at the ship's controls unruffled by the rapid descent. "Vegeta, you prick!" she shrieked at him while trying to keep herself from being knocked around the upper level like a pinball. "Why didn't you tell me you were going to land us?!"

"You were asleep," he responded, his back still turned. "Far be it for me to disrupt your beauty sleep, the gods only know you need it."

Before she could express any outrage or retort, he looked back at her, taking in her appearance critically and making her feel insignificant. "Put some proper clothes on," he scoffed. "Those scraps you call sleepwear are not suited for Orui."

"Sh-shut up!" she snarled, covering her figure self-consciously anyway as she backed over to the opening to the lower level.

Vegeta appeared to be in a worse mood than usual, she noticed, usually when he teased her it was obvious that he was only trying to rile her up. Just then his barbs had pure venom. Maybe he was trying to sabotage any progress they had made to make his neurotic ass feel more in control. _Jerk. Asshole. I really hate that guy._

 _"Good,"_ he would probably respond with an obnoxious smirk were she to voice such a thought aloud.

_Prick._

By the time Bulma had gotten ready and changed into a plain shirt with the Capsule Corp. logo and a pair of jeans (remembering Vegeta's warning over and over again to not adorn herself with "baubles" or anything shiny— _yeah yeah, I got it_ ) Vegeta was gone. The hatch out of the ship opened led her to realize he had gone ahead as she stood there and watched the stairs out thoughtfully. _Is he going to come back?_ Bulma wondered. She could feel his ki signature moving steadily deeper and deeper into the Orui wilderness. "What suddenly got up _his_ ass?" she mused at no one. "He said the Saiyans and Oruians were allies, so why is he all agitated now?"

Maybe…it was her? Come to think of it, he had started acting off after her call being intercepted by Turles. He stayed with her for some time after that, allowing her to hold onto him and mumble her worries about everyone into his shoulder. Then he told her to get some sleep and left.

Today Vegeta was back in his Frieza Force uniform and exhibited a coldness that spoke the presence of a stranger.

Did she push her boundaries? Was it too much? Just because he offered his hand didn't mean— _no_. Bulma shook herself out of the childish thoughts. _Cut that out, Vegeta is just a jerk because he's a jerk. I'm being…_

Foolish? Sensitive?

No, she was _great_ , Vegeta had the problem and it most certainly was not _her_ problem.

She told herself that, but it continued to nag at her _why_ Vegeta was in such a terrible mood. What was wrong, would he tell her? Or would he keep it as some obscure repressed man secret? He was a puzzle that she couldn't help but keep coming back to for the purpose of working it out with her clever mind. The further he went away from her, the more Bulma began to feel the tingles of the link in her mind—what was that, some bullshit about absence making the heart grow fonder? _Vegeta?_

_What is it?_

Surprise that he actually responded aside, Bulma walked to the opening of the hatch and paused, trying to catch a glimpse of what she could of the landscape. _Are you…I mean, what's bothering you?_

 _It can't be helped, I fear, it's some blue-haired weakling that continues to be a nuisance in my life,_ Vegeta's affected sigh came.

"Ugh!" she huffed, crossing her arms and beginning to pace. _I'm **trying** to help you here! If something's wrong, I want to know!_

 _Why?_ Vegeta asked.

Why, indeed. Why?

_You're my friend, that's why. I care, I trust you._

He didn't answer for a long moment, little ki signatures began to ping at Bulma's senses languidly approaching the ship before his voice came again: _You **shouldn't** trust me._

 _Ah, but I do,_ Bulma responded with a wry smile, creeping down the stairs a little to see what exactly was coming her way.

_That's your mistake._

It is, isn't it? And yet, being told she was making a mistake or that she _shouldn't_ do something only made Bulma want to do it all the more. _I'm only human, my friend._

He said nothing more after that having already warned Bulma for the umpteenth time that she shouldn't trust him. Vegeta didn't know what to do with having someone's trust, just like Bulma didn't know what to do with having _his_ trust (though he would not admit it). It all made perfect sense from a psychological standpoint: Vegeta was only taught to hurt and destroy, and from what she felt in his bitterness Frieza treated him like a damn pet. A pet, of course, in the demeaning senior lady carrying a poorly socialized chihuahua in her handbag way. Nothing went without permission, yes even while on leave.

Frieza must have figured he had stomped out any desire for contact or companionship in Vegeta.

Vegeta must have figured it as well.

The image of him with marks on his neck from a collar came back into her mind, the beaten and downtrodden look of a broken man in his eyes turned down in shame.

Though Bulma would never want to confront Frieza herself, she knew she would never stand a chance, but knowing, _knowing_ the damage he had done and would continue to do only entrenched her hatred of him.

Movement caught her eye and grabbed her out of her thoughts as she sat on the steps waiting for whatever pinged at her senses to make itself known. She craned her neck forward and saw crow-like creatures that stood straight up—though on paper that sounded impossible for anything like birds to evolve with. They wore simple tunics of varying colors, if Bulma looked more carefully she could see arcane patterns on some and was able to pick out more individual traits as they curiously gathered around the ramp. They squawked and cawed between themselves, some canting their heads in her direction. The Oruian language, much like a crow's way of communicating, was unique to them and impossible to replicate. She smiled, nonetheless, hoping she gave off a positive and friendly aura, crows were very intelligent after all, enough to where they recognized individual faces and expressions on Earth.

(Vegeta's reaction when he learned about a smaller, less evolved version of Oruians on Earth was priceless.)

The crowd of Oruians didn't appear threatened, but still none thought to speak until the smallest one among them piped up: "Are you Prince Vegeta's wife?"

"Wani!" one croaked, aghast that such a thing was brought up. "Don't pay her any mind, my lady," they added, covering Wani with their wings to bring the little one out of her line of sight.

"That's okay," Bulma laughed, waving it off and standing to come down and meet them. "I'm his friend, Bulma, nothing more than that."

"Of course," the largest one rumbled, nodding in understanding. "Prince Vegeta is meeting with the Grand Elder at the moment, he asked us to bring his technician to Mezusu's. We presume that to be you, Lady Bulma."

Large was an understatement, when Bulma reached the ground level with the rest of the Oruians, she realized that one was as tall as Nappa. "Yeah…" She sighed, shrugging and giving a careless smile to them. "That's me, all right."

The Oruians clucked and squawked in consideration while Bulma put the ramp back up and recapsulized the ship. A wave of gasps drew her attention back to the corvids. "What's wrong?" she said, blinking at them and looking around for any sort of disturbance.

"His highness spoke of your capsule technology, yet I still cannot believe I witnessed such a thing," the large one breathed in genuine awe. "He told the truth when he said you were the best technician in the universe."

"Funny how he always says nice things when I'm not around," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "Eh—anyway, lead the way and I'll follow, um—"

That was a lot of Oruians to introduce herself to. Luckily the large one gallantly offered his arm (wing?) to her with an official proclamation, "I am Washi, Lady Bulma. Though Orui is a peaceful planet, I will nonetheless keep you safe."

 _Aw, what a nice crow._ Oruians were kind as rumored, which did beg the question of what Vegeta would be speaking with the elder about. Knowing Vegeta, Bulma was _very_ concerned about what he was saying or doing. _I hope it's something **nice**_. "Say, uh…how well do you guys know Vegeta, exactly?" she ventured a question to Washi, the worry about her dumb Saiyan friend putting aside any thought of how strange it was to be standing next to a seven-foot-tall bird.

The settlement that the Oruians lived in didn't appear to have a streamlined look to their buildings, though they were houses their makeup appeared eclectic with a myriad of materials. The one exception was a large central building that looked like it was made of crystal carved in geometric shapes. Bulma theorized right away that the Oruians must build their own houses in a similar fashion to how birds made their nests. But then how did they get materials, she wondered, she thought Oruians were reclusive and didn't generally leave their planet. She really wished she didn't blurt out a ridiculous question about Vegeta and just asked Washi about that instead.

To his credit. Washi took the question in stride and answered in an even tone: "We've known Prince Vegeta since he was a boy. The Grand Elder was called upon personally by the King to give his blessing upon the Prince's birth."

It was a perfectly straightforward answer to her question, but it didn't answer anything about _how well_ any of them knew Vegeta, if they trusted him or if there was a risk in him being there. But then again, the Oruians had too much value to the galaxy as a whole to be harmed, and Vegeta already showed that he was capable of _asking_ as opposed to threatening. Still…whatever he was talking about with the Elder, it had to be something big, and her curious mind wanted to know every detail.

  


* * *

  


The Elder had more grey edges to his feathers than Vegeta remembered. Everything else, however, was the same as always—wise yet unadorned with finery as a leader would be and unpretentious in demeanor.

Almost everything, besides the grey, the corvid had shrunk in the intervening years, or perhaps Vegeta grew. They still recognized and addressed one another with respect, an honor that he gave without anything backhanded to very few. Despite respecting the Elder, Vegeta had a clear agenda in mind and didn't bother with the small talk, "You said you could tell me how I was to ascend when I was older, Grand Elder."

"I know, young prince, I recall it well." The voice of the Elder was laden with creaks and rumbles that hid all the secrets of the universe, divine and ugly, the darkest and most ancient knowledge. Being around him was both terrifying and inexplicably comforting, though Tarble felt none of the comfort when they were children and bawled at the mere sight of him. Rokufu took this in stride and cradled Tarble gently in his wings, soothing his cries and quelling his fear with his words, _"No fear, young prince. You have a kind heart and a curious mind. I grant you the blessing of clarity—may you never cease questioning, and may you impart your wisdom to all."_

Naturally, being an impatient brat, Vegeta demanded to know what _his_ blessing was—strength? To be the greatest king? The Elder only turned a misty-eyed look to him at the time, which perplexed Vegeta as he was certain corvids couldn't shed tears.

 _"Prince Vegeta,"_ Rokufu croaked, the pain of regret tinged with impossible hope coursing through his pitch. _"For you, I bestowed your gift at birth—I saw your ascension. When you are a man, come back to me and you will understand. This I vow."_

"A friend who promised you something when you were a boy," the Elder of the current time chuckled. "Lady Yaba's fortune was at least accurate there."

 _So it was, but then…_ Vegeta frowned, the nightmares that had been plaguing him screaming in his head—a woman screaming, the sound he hated the most.

No, he didn't come to fuss over nonsense, he came to make good on the old man's vow.

"Time is not linear, my prince," Rokufu responded to a question not asked but still weighing heavily on his shoulders. "It is a river, you may understand the flow and predict its path as Lady Yaba does, but the current can be changed by something as minor as a stone or a branch." He waved his wing in a sweeping gesture to the open ceiling of his meeting room, his reflection playing tricks on the crystalline walls. "All the stars and planets in the universe will die one day, will they not?"

"Not all at once," Vegeta pointed out, wondering what the hell any of what Rokufu was saying had to do with him. The Elder wasn't one for playing mind games, yet he would never give a direct answer to someone seeking his wisdom for the sake of finding the solution on their own.

Vegeta wasn't in the mood for playing that game when talking about his promised ascension and tried to steer the conversation back: "Grand Elder—"

"A star or a planet may die, but their pieces are left to form a new life. Death does not always mean _loss_ in fortunes, Vegeta, but rebirth—the shedding of the old to make way for something new."

He could feel his patience wearing thin as the old bird spoke, for a moment the idea of strangling the feather-brained loon came vividly to mind before he pushed it out. Don't do that, Vegeta scolded himself, questioning just when he trained himself to kill first even in the most minor of situations. Well, he supposed he did it out of survival, anything else was pure sadism, just like Frieza would cherish in his trained pet.

_Ugh._

"I am happy that he did not completely destroy you," Rokufu's voice came into his thoughts. "And you are close to it."

"Close to what?" Vegeta demanded, clenching his fists, _fighting_ to keep himself from just throttling the creature in front of him. He couldn't do that, he shouldn't do that. _And what's that business about destroying me?_ The Elder couldn't have possibly known about Frieza's treatment of him, though Oruians' eyes saw many things they couldn't read minds.

(As far as Vegeta knew, anyway.)

"Ascension, my prince." He stood from his seat, limping over to the center of the room to stare up out at the stars overhead. "I can see now you have made a valuable ally, the one I saw all those years ago—I predicted much later, however, I didn't foresee the trip to Earth or…"

"Bulma." The name slipped out from his mouth before he could even think of the implications that it was _foreseen_ they would meet even if Vegeta hadn't gone to Earth as a boy. What else sort of insane circumstances would they have met under? He simply couldn't fathom that or what the Elder saw initially.

"Yes, that girl is a wildcard, she was not supposed to end up here." He didn't sound annoyed but amused, awed, and humbled in a good-natured way.

Vegeta couldn't help the cocky smirk that came to his face, oddly satisfied with _his friend_ being unpredictable enough to throw off even the most ancient and wise of beings.

"It's true, she has a fiery spirit, the brightest I've seen in centuries," Rokufu wheezed a laugh upon seeing his expression. "She's the spirit of rebellion and insolence itself."

"You're telling me," Vegeta snorted. "She's completely insane, calling someone like me a friend, conspiring against—"

 _Wait._ Something screeched to a halt in Vegeta's mind, a dark spot in his mind suddenly illuminating with _her_.

Her, her, his entire life it's been that damned woman resting somewhere in the back of his mind. Someone he assumed he would only meet again to kill for paying back his humiliation.

"Are you saying _she_ will lead to my ascension?"

She wanted to help him ascend, she believed that he would and told him that he would, and he—as insane as it was—believed her sincerity in doing everything in her power to make that happen.

Once she wanted something, she was going to get it, much like him. _Hmph._ That troublesome woman.

Rokufu had the impression of a smile on his face, though such an expression would be impossible for the anatomy of a corvid. His flicker of an expression said his answer clearly, though he elucidated for Vegeta anyway: "Lady Bulma is the one, you will find everything you need with her."

"What else do I _need_ besides to ascend and kill Frieza?" Vegeta defiantly argued, trying not to think of the sheer _anomaly_ Bulma was in comparison to everything else in his life. How the difference was strangely welcome to him as it went on and he forgot any petty anger he might have felt as a child. How she had offered him so much and more while expecting little in return, but he could probably _never_ pay back what she had given him except with killing Frieza. Even then, he promised that he would be the ruler of the universe in Frieza's place, even then he couldn't stop himself from saying stupid things that hurt her.

Again, that uncanny impression of a smile flickered over the Elder's face. He knew, Vegeta realized. He knew no matter how much he fought to hide it, and that only made him angrier at how things were _changing_. He never asked for that, he just wanted to kill Frieza and restore the honor of his people.

Bulma never wanted this, either. She wanted a life of adventure, she never intended to become part of a plot to topple a galactic overlord.

If she didn't want it—no, she did, why else would she have stuck around for so long? Why else would she have bothered to gain his trust? To humiliate him?

No, she wouldn't do that, she never lied to him. He— _ugh_ —trusted her and she held that trust so carefully out of fear of harming it—harming him. It was unnecessary, really, Bulma couldn't possibly hurt _him_.

"You will know in time, my prince," Rokufu croaked, making his way back to his seat, tailfeathers and wing tips dragging across the floor. "You will know the gift Lady Bulma has given to you."

Vegeta watched his progress, narrowing his eyes in thought, understanding nothing though he had come to the Elder for answers. Despite that he wasn't disappointed, he only asked: "What about the hag's fortune about Bulma?"

"Ah, you're worried about that," the Elder stated, not asked. "Suffering, pain, death—oh honestly," his tone gained a tongue firmly in cheek, "I just _told_ you death doesn't mean _loss_ in fortunes."

"I don't want any kind of death happening to her!" he barked, finally letting his inner thoughts out after so long. "—I mean, not without my hand behind it!"

Rokufu _chortled_ at his childish outburst. "You tell falsehoods, my prince. Nothing but falsehoods. Go and tell her about the fortune you overheard, see what happens."

"She'll say it's a bunch of bullshit and that she doesn't believe in nonsense like that," he responded without hesitance. "And she would not go meekly and play the part of a victimized damsel should someone try anything."

"You know her well."

"She's fool enough to believe that I'm her friend, I have no _choice_ but knowing her."

Whether Bulma was actually a fool for believing it, or Vegeta really hated knowing her, neither would deign to admit anything stubborn as they were. Rokufu knew it, though he could only advise and watch to see where it went.

For the present, he reminded Vegeta that Bulma was with Mezusu intending to work on materials for a new bodysuit. "She will want to leave immediately to prevent any imposition on us, and to be sure her teacher is safe."

Vegeta sighed and rolled his eyes, "He's _fine_ , he's a Saiyan. She worries too much."

"Mm, the encounter with Turles shook all of your spirits," he hummed thoughtfully, resting his wings in his lap and turning his eyes skyward again. "And Lady Bulma can't keep herself out of trouble for long, should Turles meet with her—"

"Don't."

He didn't want to think of such a revolting thing.

"Peace, Vegeta, as long as she's with you she's safe."

He _laughed_. It was absurd, completely absurd. When she was with _him_ she was _safe_? It had to be a joke. Sometimes the Elder made jokes.

Only sometimes.

Not that he was going to let Bulma out of his sight _anyway_ , and even for being on Orui it was still too long. He bid a curt farewell to Rokufu and made his way to the head seamstress of the Oruians—of course Bulma was already there engaging in animated conversation with Mezusu's daughter Urazu. He could only tell it was Urazu since Rasuka—the son—was physically larger than his sister, every Oruian looked the same to him as he didn't bother with taking note of details unless it was in a battle (and an Oruian would never be dumb enough to fight him).

"Oh hey, there you are!" Bulma said when she noticed he was there, all good cheer and excitement—which must have meant she was in the middle of some interesting experiment, she wouldn't smile like that _at_ him. "It took you long enough—I hope you weren't a jerk to the Elder."

"That's none of your business," he grunted.

Urazu made no comment, only nodded meekly at him and gave polite greetings. She had always been a shy one, spending her time poring over books and spells, to see her speaking with Bulma (until he walked in, that is) was out of the ordinary.

What wasn't out of the ordinary was Rasuka carrying a bolt of fabric for his mother, sending a suspicious glare to Bulma and Vegeta both. He had always had a personality bigger than his body, always spoiling for a fight and eternally suspicious of outsiders—probably about as derisive of other aliens as Vegeta himself.

"Prince Vegeta!" the voice of Mezusu brought his attention to the slight Oruian standing just to the side of Rasuka. Had she shrunk, too? Her feathers looked less glossy than from when he was a boy, but the same glasses sat on her beak held by a chain around her neck and the tunic pockets full of sewing tools were unmistakable. "It's good to see you after so long!"

Vegeta only made a vague mumbling noise in return, unsure of how to deal with such overbearing jolliness. Even when the planet was whole, and his family was alive he didn't know how to deal with the Oruian insistence on _nurturing_ and being polite. Rasuka dropped the fabric roll onto the table Bulma and Urazu were sitting at heavily and stood back, paying no mind to their startled jumps and gasps.

"Oh heaven's sake, Rasuka, must you be rude to guests?" Mezusu sighed, indicating the fabric to Bulma. "Lady Bulma, this material should be sufficient for your needs, and easier to duplicate from the material we use for Frieza's men."

Bulma, paying no mind to Vegeta's sour face, rubbed her fingers across the material with an impressed whistle. "This is great—hey, Vegeta, what color did you want for this?"

"Color?"

Of all things, she was asking him what _color_ he wanted to wear? Yes, she was serious, nodding like it was a very important order of business. "I know your usual is blue, but I was thinking you'd look good in grey, know what I mean?"

"This isn't a fashion show, Bulma!" he snapped, tail fur bristling. "The color I usually have is _fine_!"

"He prefers it," Urazu piped up out of nowhere. When all eyes turned to her, she looked down in shame. "I—I mean, he prefers that color."

What was with people saying he _preferred_ or _liked_ the color? Mezusu interrupted what was undoubtably another argument between the two stubborn morons in the room by taking Vegeta's arm. "Excuse us for a moment, won't you?"

And so Vegeta was dragged away by the corvid, leaving Bulma to stare after them in confusion.

"Does your mom drag people around often?" she asked Urazu, who only shook her head in response.

"Mother used to do the tailoring for the Royal Family back on planet Vegeta, she's probably showing him some projects she had in store for him."

"Man, he's lucky," Bulma joked. "He's got people making all kinds of clothes for him and he's such a rude jerk in response."

Rasuka, who barely spoke a word to her anyway besides growling caws and suspicious glares, stood at the doorway his mother pulled Vegeta through while watching the girls cagily.

"Is that not normal for Saiyans?" Urazu asked with no irony in her tone whatsoever. Man, she was clearly a naive little gal that had never been off her planet. "From my understanding the only ones that never acted…err…brusque were the Queen and Prince Tarble."

Bulma knew Tarble very well and would have agreed if it wouldn't have been dangerous for Tarble at that moment, their mother was only someone seen through a hazy film of Vegeta's memories. "Well…Vegeta has a soft spot, sometimes," she ended up blurting out, thinking about his quiet moments of attentiveness to her. As soon as she did, she cursed herself for it, and cursed herself for something as juvenile as being fond of someone for the basic act of paying _attention_ to her.

The impression of a sly smile came across Urazu's face, which was always a bad sign for anything resembling Bulma's dignity.

"Don't you say it," she warned. "Or I'll pull out your feathers."

"Neither of us give a bull's pizzle about your infatuation with the prince," Rasuka cut in verbally and physically as he stuck his wing in between them to block Urazu from sight.

Torn between outrage at the idea of an _infatuation_ , confusion at what a pizzle was, and annoyance at the overprotective behavior, Bulma sighed harshly and stood up from her seat, taking the fabric with her. "When Vegeta comes out, tell him I went back to the place we landed. Nice meeting you," she threw over her shoulder as she left.

"Come back and visit us soon, Lady Bulma!" Urazu called cheerfully while Rasuka mumbled more obscenities.

As she returned to the landing spot, waving to Oruians that greeted her as she went, Bulma's scouter went off. "Hey, Raditz," she answered—who else would it have been?

 _"I thought about it,"_ he said with no fanfare or greeting of his own. It sounded like someone was coaching him in the background—most likely Launch. _"I, uh…I want to come with you to Earth. When you go back next,"_ he continued all in one breath.

"Okay," Bulma responded nonchalantly as she threw out the ship capsule. "We're bringing Nappa along, too, right? He'd love my mom's cooking."

 _"The old man would probably be mad at us if we didn't bring him along,"_ Raditz joked, startling a laugh out of her.

"Hey, you've got jokes! That's great," she giggled settling herself comfortably in the pilot's chair of the ship. "Then I'll go ahead with what I was going to do."

 _"Uh, yeah…"_ Raditz sounded less confident at the idea that was brewing. _"And what's that?"_

"I'm going to meet with Frieza again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [TO BE CONTINUED...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPCLFtxpadE)
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> Thanks for reading! Now I'm going back to screaming about exams and shitposting on my tumblr. Occasionally I put actual words that mean things on there, though, like this [infopost](https://mozarteffect.tumblr.com/post/178294850633/fic-world-post-1-orui) about Orui and talking about how my readers are much smarter than I am.


	18. In the Moonless Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mozart was serious about the "divergence" in "canon divergence." Local Saiyan dads never get any rest. Local clueless Saiyan is unaware he has a crush. Look in the garbage and you may find a friend and a boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this also ended up being a long one because I didn't update last month, whoops. Hopefully I'll be back to monthly updates after this since I'm off for winter break right now. I've also included some Bonus Drawings I've done because uhhhhhh it's the fancy thing to do? First one is my mockup screenshot of Galactic Patroller Bulma-Chan, second one is the most exhausted Saiyandad around (aka Tyber.) I'm new to adding images to these things so mmmmyeah let's get the chapter started already.

 

 

The old bird really didn't need to pull so much, Vegeta thought, and what she wanted to show him couldn't have been all _that_ important. He pulled his arm out of her feathery grip, going into his usual posture of crossing his arms, tapping his fingers impatiently.

"I know you are growing anxious being away from Lady Bulma, your highness," Mezusu said, casting a glance to Vegeta who kept his eyes turned back to the doorway they had gone through. "But please, grant this 'old bird' your patience for a little longer."

He huffed out a mix between a sigh and a growl, waving it off. "I'm not _anxious_ ," he insisted, not for the first time that trip finding it unusual how the Oruians so acutely picked up on his thoughts.

"Your eyes tell me your thoughts, Prince Vegeta. Do give me some credit, I am a mother."

Vegeta only frowned, watching the corvid rummage around her shelves for something. He observed different shades of fabric, an assortment of tools, and projects in varying states of completion. It was a far cry from Bulma's eclectic working space, neat and tidy to her _mess_. He still questioned how she even worked in such a state, let alone sequestered herself away in it for hours on end. "I don't see what you being a mother has to do with it, you're still wrong, I'm not anxious."

She turned back to him then, staring up at the prince with penetrating eyes, though she said nothing more—only gestured to a chair, inviting him to sit. Vegeta automatically obeyed the request, not liking the way she was looking at him. He _didn't_ know what her being a mother had to do with anything, how did that somehow grant her the power to observe and interpret his body language? Much like how he was mystified that Bulma understood how he felt and acted so carefully in response for his sake. _For my sake_ , Vegeta repeated that thought in disbelief. _Nobody_ did anything so genuinely for his sake, but Bulma did, she treated him so kindly, so rebelliously kind and gentle just for him.

She _should_ fear him, Mezusu should fear him too, Orui should not have welcomed him back with open arms as if he was still the child he used to be.

 _"But I'm not afraid,"_ the usual response Bulma would give to the topic echoed in his head. Unbidden, Vegeta smiled. That foolish reckless woman.

The moment passed as another thought struck, more paranoid and aggressive: Oruians' eyes "saw" many things, they "walked" planes beyond the comprehension of most. Did any one of them witness his moments of softness with Bulma? Or, even worse, chance upon the exasperating and humiliating _dreams_ in his subconscious? They weren't the type to _spy_ , he figured, but the mere idea was enough to make his fingers tap quicker against his arm, growing _angry_ at the thought.

"You are radiating stress, my prince," Mezusu's voice brought him back to reality. "Excuse my language, but I will borrow from Prince Tarble when he said," she took a breath, " _Stop being such a fucking child._ "

Her voice had taken on the exact pitch and timbre belonging to Tarble, it startled Vegeta into looking around the room as if he would see his brother there though he _saw_ Mezusu speak right in front of him.

He hated to admit it, he really wanted to argue, but she was right, he _was_ being childish and he needed to get his head on straight. He grumbled, running his hand nervously through his hair—wondering where he had picked up such a habit in recent times, half-recalling that Bulma's hair felt more pleasant between his fingers (which was an unusual thought as he was wearing gloves anyway). "Nothing is the same as it was," Vegeta finally growled out in a frustrated sigh. "Since meeting that damned woman again, things have been changing—my own _thinking_ has been changing."

"You do not have to tell me, your highness, I see the bond you share with Lady Bulma." As she spoke, the image of Bulma appeared in his mind, the red string trailing from her chest and glowing softly just like the first time he saw it. The image changed, abruptly, showing a vivid image of her ribs and heart—the red string weaved through the bones to entrap the heart within, not constricting, just caging. That wasn't…real, was it? It wasn't—what did that mean? The crone had mentioned before they were "tangled up quite thoroughly" but to _see_ the point at which the thread originated…

It disturbed him, but in another way it comforted him, and he despised himself for the sentimental thoughts.

Vegeta shook his head, a harsher growl than the one before escaping from him. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became, _why?_ Why did things have to change? Why couldn't he control it?

No, he remembered as the Oruian watched him while holding an all-too-familiar box in her grasp. He _could_ control it, he could have the bond severed, it didn't mean anything _serious_.

(Selfish monster that he was, he refused to have it severed on the principle of being certain that the troublesome woman wouldn't back out of their deal and run away.)

 _"It's not like we're betrothed or something,"_ Bulma had said.

Of _course_ they weren't, that would be ridiculous.

(Why didn't _she_ ask to have it severed then? Or after? Come to think of it, was betrothal common on Earth? He found it strange that she even mentioned such a thing. _Betrothal?_ Honestly.)

"I think that's something you need to discuss with Lady Bulma herself, if you don't want me to sever the bond," Mezusu said mildly, opening the box to present it to Vegeta. "It's very unusual that such a thing even happened at all."

The familiar glint of the Royal Family crest sidelined any further thoughts Vegeta might have had about the topic. His hands twitched at the sight, wanting to reach out and grasp the pendant, it was only reminding himself that he _shouldn't_ have it that kept him from doing so. "Did Tarble have you make this?" he asked first, all suspicion and unease.

As soon as he asked, however, the look Mezusu gave him made him realize that it was an illogical conclusion. "I have watched over you both, as I did when you were young and came here," she explained calmly. "However, I made this pendant before your brother showed the Queen's final token."

"You _watched_ me?" Vegeta burst, jumping to his feet, all the wrong conclusions about what she intended coming to mind faster than the Oruian could even finish her sentence. "What else were you _watching_?"

"Your missions from Frieza, mostly," she clipped.

His stomach, his jaw, and his shoulders dropped all at the same time then.

Oh. It was the purging missions that she had seen, not…

An Oruian's spirit flew wherever they wished, exploring the galaxy and watching over its people, when the two princes were young the Oruian adults watched over them similarly. He didn't understand the tendency towards _nurturing_ and _caring_ that they did. They were such bizarre creatures.

"You know that's what I have to do," he ended up saying rather than attempting to voice his complicated and confused thoughts. "You know that if I don't…"

(He didn't have to justify himself to her! _Of course_ it was what he had to do! And even if he wasn't made to do it by Frieza, it's what he would be doing _anyway_ , Saiyans destroyed! They killed! So _what_?!)

"Yes, your highness, I know," Mezusu acquiesced with that odd misty-eyed look that really shouldn't have been possible for a creature that couldn't shed tears. "As to your moments with Lady Bulma, it's not my business, nor do I have much inclination to advise about mammal impulses."

 _Ughhhhh_. Did she have to say _that_? Vegeta looked away stubbornly, the heat rising to his face in a shameful display of _embarrassment_. At the same time, he did remember then why he tolerated Mezusu most out of the other Oruians (besides the Elder) she knew when to mind her own business and got straight to the point with none of that insufferable _teasing_ others in his (limited) social circle did.

"And I know that you believe you should not have possession of the royal crest yet," she continued, pushing the pendant into his hands. "But you will keep it out of sight until you _are_ ready, I know you will."

His fingers squeezed reflexively around the crest, the light dancing off the gem in the center so the "moon" glowed. It took another moment of consideration until he nodded, putting the pendant down the front of his armor where the remote for his pod usually would be. "Fine. Was that all?"

"It was, my prince," she answered, gesturing to the area deeper into her working room, "Though if you ever have a need of my skills, you know how to find me."

He nodded again, satisfied with the conversation as it went despite the uncomfortable weight of the pendant on his chest. "Then I'll be going."

Rasuka took the moment to poke his head into the room and announce, "Your servant went ahead back to the ship."

"Rasuka!" Mezusu gasped, wagging a scolding wing at her son. "Don't be so crude!"

 _A servant_ , Vegeta felt himself grit his teeth, lips peeling back in a show of irritation. "You're fortunate I respect your mother enough to _not_ wring your neck for your impertinence towards _my technician_ ," he snarled.

(Though, come to think of it, Bulma would spit fire if someone called her a servant to her face. He should try that, just to see her reaction. But _nobody_ besides him should insult her.)

The Oruian male merely scoffed, waving off both the prince's obvious threat display and his own mother's annoyance.

Of course, nobody would associate freely with a murderer like him. It would only make sense that someone had been forced into it, acting as a slave as opposed to an equal. Usually Vegeta would have agreed, nobody was an equal to him, last year he would have declared he didn't have _associates_. But now…the idea of anyone thinking Bulma lacked the willpower and intelligence to act of her own free will, the idea that he was treating her as a _slave_ when—if anything—he was devoting far more energy and thought to keeping her from _becoming_ a slave to someone much worse than him than he would for _any_ other person. He resented that thought, though he rightly deserved that sort of suspicion, Bulma did _not_ deserve such insolence.

Fortunately, as her brother appeared before, Urazu took the moment to meekly chime in and take attention away from any future arguing: "Prince Vegeta?"

"What?" he grunted, turning his head in first reaction to the sound of the female Oruian.

"It was nice seeing you," she said, bobbing her head in a gesture of what he assumed was Oruian courtesy. "I hope you and Lady Bulma come back soon for a longer visit."

Why was she bidding farewell suddenly?

His answer came when a harsh scream sent him flying out of the house and the settlement itself, bypassing any friendly Oruian hails in his rush to leave. He didn't need ( _want_ ) to stop and consider what the scream actually was, he only knew right at the moment it came from the direction of the ship. Whatever it _was_ didn't matter—it was near Bulma, it could have _been_ Bulma (though it didn't sound like her voice) and the panic of what trouble found her (as it always did!) took over for him.

"It's just Raditz," Bulma answered a reaction Vegeta didn't even get the chance to voice the moment he flew up the ship's stairs. She was leaned back in the pilot's chair, caught in the middle of carrying on a conversation on her scouter, her demeanor pure apathy towards his appearance. Her tone of indifference shocked him so that he forgot to be annoyed with her casual dismissal of him and _making_ him concerned.

The moment of forgetting passed, however, and he opened his mouth to admonish her, make demands like usual, but she dismissed him again with a wave of her hand while she busied herself with starting up the ship.

 ** _Fine._** _Be that way,_ Vegeta's bitter thoughts were his sole company as he stomped down to his quarters and fell onto his bed. He waited for a while, stewing in his own temperamental thoughts, before he found himself digging into the impromptu hiding place for the pendant— _his_ pendant. The gem in the center appeared to glow again in the dim light as he examined it. Vegeta had his _own_ pendant, at one point, left behind on the planet while he went on missions as a boy. Now it was gone, except for the recreation he now held, predicted by Mezusu as something he would…what? Need? No, there was no _need_ for it, it was only a symbol, the pale imitation of a dead race, a toppled dynasty. Destroyed by _meteors_ of all things.

( _But was it…?_ )

No, Vegeta realized, she predicted without fully realizing the context that seeing the Queen's pendant in Tarble's hands stirred some old feeling of longing in him. Nostalgia. The desire to have something from his now hardly remembered life before, a semblance of his identity as a royal. It was a gift, though he didn't deserve it, just as he didn't deserve the gift Bulma had given him so freely.

(He had _nothing_ to give in return. Nothing. Nothing to give when everything had been _taken_ from him.)

But even if Vegeta had something to give in return, his power, his kingdom—whatever would be of use, none of _this_ would have happened. If he _had_ what he was entitled to, he would not _have_ …

Her, he was trying to acknowledge that Bulma would not be in his life if the planet had never been destroyed. It was true he would have been King eventually, perhaps he would have taken on a Queen as well, but what else? He wouldn't have known about Tarble, he wouldn't have a drive to pursue ascension by being comfortable in life, he wouldn't…he wouldn't…

It was her fault, all of it, _she_ was why he ended up here and was thinking about the things he was. A part of him howled that he was becoming weak and needed to immediately remedy the _problem_.

 _"Well, that's a good point, becoming comfortable can be dangerous,"_ a thought that sounded like Bulma's voice occurred to him. _"But let me posit this: you already **are** comfortable with your life, you live under someone else's command and kill on his behalf. You kill people that can't possibly put up a good enough fight for a Saiyan. You've accepted that as your life and being comfortable in another way is making you **un** comfortable. Things **need** to change so you can defeat Frieza, right? Maybe every change won't be easy for you to grasp, but there's time. There's always time."_

Vegeta jolted upright in his bed, fumbling around to find the nightstand to shut his pendant into, then fumbled some more to change into his training clothes. He was going mad because he had stopped training for a couple of hours—he would need to get started again right away. Bulma probably wouldn't complain, she didn't _need_ to be monitoring the ship from the top level anyway, all her frivolities were on the bottom level. _Right—right—of course—_

His _blasted scouter_ went off, startling the prince into the most dignified action of tripping over his own sheets and falling with a loud crash to the floor. The screaming of curses that followed could have woken the dead, or at least shaken the ship apart if he was inclined to. He was surprised Bulma _hadn't_ immediately come to investigate by the time he had grabbed his scouter and shouted threats to whatever fool dared to just call him for _no reason_.

Nappa's voice, sounding unruffled by Vegeta's threats, only gave a greeting to him and asked how the trip had been. "I have some news from the base," he added before Vegeta could answer the niceties with his nasty words.

"What _now_?" he sighed, sitting heavily on the floor against his bed, unsurprised when Bulma peeked into the room a moment after. He only gestured at her to leave, which of course she disregarded and moved into the room to sit next to him. "It's Nappa," he explained to her at the questioning look on her face. She nodded and leaned against his shoulder while he listened to what the old man had to say.

"We've been assigned a mission for when our leave finishes. Some prime real estate has been found over in the neighboring galaxy, so…"

"Ah."

The next galaxy over. They would be gone for quite some time. His eyes shifted over to Bulma, whose own eyes had slipped closed in a light doze. He wondered if she had been missing sleep again, since the call with Turles. He _told_ her to sleep, but it wouldn't stop the visions in his—her—their linked thoughts. He hoped against the likely truth that she _didn't_ experience the nightmares he had, she didn't need to see the horrid image of Frieza claiming his new favorite pet while Vegeta disgracefully cowered away from the sight (or the more embarrassing childish encounter).

She also would not want to speak to him while he was out killing aliens, most likely.

(Actual regret plagued him when thinking of Bulma knowing what he went out to do, which he loathed and pushed down whenever it came up. He didn't need to justify himself to _her_ either.)

Vegeta ended the call with Nappa, setting aside the scouter and any thoughts of training as he sat there with Bulma on the floor in a rumpled mess of sheets. The only sounds in the room (picked up by his keen hearing) were the sounds of the pair's own breathing and heartbeats.

_"Maybe every change won't be easy for you to grasp, but there's time. There's always time."_

He raised up his hand, circling his arm around her shoulders, and gently ran his fingers through Bulma's hair. It would be some time before he could do that again, wouldn't it? Some time before he would be able to indulge in this quiet, this moment in time that existed only for the two of them.

_"You're going to leave again, huh?"_

Feh, too tired to keep her eyes open, brain still active enough to _talk_ even if only through telepathy. What a troublesome woman.

"I'll be back," Vegeta promised her, despite his thoughts still warring about openly showing emotion and the idea of _promising_ anybody anything. "I need my technician around if I'm going to train, don't I?"

It irritated her to be called like a possession, and if Vegeta were to examine it honestly, he would realize that even since they were children he had thought of her in terms of "mine" with no question. _My target, my enemy, mine to toy with, my rival, my technician (my friend)._ It was almost second nature to think of her that way, though he didn't usually _have_ and being _owned_ was an idea he truly despised. Would it not be hypocritical in that case to refer to Bulma as such? She never called him things like that. Despite the logic, rather than examine any of that honestly, Vegeta would declare she should be grateful that he never argued with her about not agreeing to being called _her friend_.

(Someday he _would_ bring up that he had heard the conversation between her and the hideous creature that called him Bulma's "man." Just to see the reaction, just to mess with her.)

Instead of the rebuttal that she was not _his_ technician, there was only a humming noise and the feel of her moving closer; their collective warmth created a shield against the universe outside that reviled tenderness and bonds.

Perhaps the fact that they maintained the bond, though they shouldn't, was the greatest act of rebellion there could have been. Perhaps the seemingly frail woman at his side was stronger than even he surmised with her audacious _compassion_ and willingness to welcome an evil bastard like him into her heart _._

"You know what I'm going out to do," he stated rather than talking about nonsense like _bonds_. "If you're going to be squeamish or lecture me, I don't want to hear it."

She made a noise after which her eyes opened to stare up at him, her hand moved up as well to touch his wrist. "I know, Vegeta."

That was all, no heartfelt lecture about _sometimes bad things happen_ or encouragement. Not even a scolding that what he was doing was bad and not showing remorse for it was frightening. She knew, she knew and didn't need to explain herself or her feelings.

It was the understanding that baffled him the most, how could someone like her exist? The Oruians were strange to him, yes, but they were long-lived creatures with arcane wisdom—Bulma Briefs was a vulgar yet naïve girl from a backwater planet nobody cared about. Someone like her should have been chewed up and spit out into the darkest recesses of the most disgusting parts of the universe. Despite that, she stood proud (though not tall) and declared: _"Nobody decides what I get to do!"_

Someone like her shouldn't exist. Shouldn't be there by his side, shouldn't be pulling his arm back around to _hold his hand_ of all things.

"You're insane." It wasn't the first time Vegeta said such a thing to her.

It wasn't the first time Bulma _smiled_ at him and replied, "Yep! But so are you."

It _was_ the first time she sat up and pressed _a kiss_ of all things to his cheek. "Be safe. Come back soon, okay?"

 _Be safe, come back soon._ She said that and she _kissed him_. What a curious feeling that was, gentle but sincere, it made him warm all over, it woke up those ridiculous thoughts of escalating the contact—dormant since they had the first direct conversation about touching. Part of him was furious to find that he _didn't_ hate it and felt no need to push her off or even hit the breakable woman. That warmth, he assumed it was happiness, overwhelmed his mind prompting nothing more than a boneless slump against her.

After another moment, Vegeta raised up his arms and pulled her closer against him.

Hug. That was the word, wasn't it? Bulma responded in kind to it, the same as the first time she embraced him, her warmth and positive emotions encapsulating them further into the shield from the universe.

"I told you I would be back, woman. You don't have to fuss."

"Yes I do, who else will keep me cozy like this when you're gone?"

Who else, she said in a tone as if the answer needn't be spoken: there was no one else. She did this with nobody but him—even her other friends. This was his alone, and that satisfied the selfish possessive feelings in him that really shouldn't be, though he still had nothing to offer to her and didn't _understand_ how she could give something like this so willingly while demanding nothing in return.

Somebody like her shouldn't exist. Yet she did, in defiance to any odds saying she shouldn't or _couldn't_ exist as she did. The more impossible something seemed, the stronger she fought against it until she got her way.

 _What a troublesome woman,_ he thought, burying his face into her shoulder, deciding it wouldn't hurt anything to stay there for a little longer.

 

* * *

 

Bulma had difficulty with making sure Raditz would keep his stupid big mouth shut about her intentions to meet with Frieza. It was difficult to even get him to shut up after his initial reaction of _screaming_ loud enough to alert Vegeta on his way back to the ship. But, like with everything else in life, Bulma got her way and kept the cat in the bag for a time.

Meeting with the King and some of her fellow officers to explain _a_ plan she had thought of in response to Turles felt like trying to give that cat a bath after letting it out.

"He's aware of my using his scouter to track him," Bulma calmly began, posture straight and hands behind her back (in unwitting imitation of Tyber who was standing similarly.) "He made contact with me the moment I picked up on a signal on him."

Mosto and Tyber, already knowing, confirmed her account; the King gasped in horror at such disturbing information, Tahaya scowled, and Jaco mumbled to himself something like not being surprised that Bulma found trouble first. The other officers spoke amongst themselves in hushed tones, gazes moving to Bulma. She ignored the reactions as well as the added commentary Jaco made about Saiyans banging at keyboards (who immediately shrank away when Tyber glared at him) to continue her thought: "He'll be expecting the tracking now. I think we need a new plan of attack. In the first contact, Turles seemed to focus on Officer Tyber."

All eyes turned to her then, different shades of shocked and curiosity apparent (Jaco mumbled he was surprised Bulma wasn't declaring intent to chase Turles herself.) Tyber took a breath, every muscle in his body clearly rigid as if he was remembering the encounter. "He did," he said after another breath. "He…took me for someone else."

"Oh dear, oh dear," the King fretted looking between Bulma and Tyber with a worried expression. "Officer Tyber, that's—that's horrifying!"

"I mean Saiyans all kinda look the same anyway, it's not that big a deal," Jaco muttered in a level of tone that wasn't remotely similar to a mutter, earning him a kick in the behind from Tahaya.

"That's enough xenophobia for one scene, Jaccy," she scoffed, leaning hard on the little alien. "At any rate, if our man acted familiar with Officer Tyber, that means…?"

Not for the first time, Bulma appreciated Tahaya's straightforward insistence. She straightened up, fixing the King with a serious look. "Your Majesty, from that I can only conclude that to track a Saiyan takes a Saiyan, maybe a couple. I want to ask Frieza permission to take on his Saiyans for assistance."

Of course she didn't expect anyone to react _well_ to the proclamation, the swelling of gasps and people talking around her said as much. She tried not to let her own familiarity with the Saiyans show through or color her perspective, thankfully Mosto added onto her statement before anybody barraged her with questions: "I agree. I wish to attend meeting Frieza with Officer Bulma."

Tyber's eyes moved to him, then to Bulma.

She didn't know what he was thinking, he already knew her involvement with the Saiyans, so he couldn't have been surprised by her instigating contact with them further. Hell, he was all but saying it outright that he thought she and _Vegeta_ of all people were having an affair (she still couldn't _believe_ he gave her a birth control chip!)

"I will accompany them," Tyber finally said in his usual cool, collected manner.

 _That_ she wasn't expecting, Tyber kept himself far from any Frieza Force members, never mind the lizard himself. Watching his face, Bulma began to consider what exactly transpired when Turles spoke to Tyber, was it truly so frightening that now even Frieza wasn't a big deal? Mosto's eyes turned to her, a quick headshake from him commanded clearly enough that her thoughts needed to stay focused on her objective.

"But…oh, dear, but they're so _vicious_ , Officer Bulma, are you sure?" the King stammered.

Bulma smiled in her usual disarming way, canting her head with her equally usual precocious guile. "Majesty, Officer Mosto would tell you I'm _very_ good with rebuffing unwanted male attention."

Though at the moment the only male attention she was getting was from Frieza, some manner of lizard that _technically_ wasn't male in a conventional sense, and Vegeta, who was Vegeta. Typical, she noted to herself to be sure to lament her poor luck and question to herself again how in the universe she managed to stay sane.

Mosto smiled briefly, his answer not needing to be spoken aloud.

The King slumped a little, looking between the three officers, expression still reading deep dismay. "I suppose…as long as you're staying close to Officer Mosto and Tyber, there won't be trouble. And…Frieza _has_ been asking after how he can assist with the issue of the Crushers—of, of course they're bad for his business," he turned his eyes down and added in a muffled tone, "He has also been asking how your work is progressing."

An air of unease came over the room; it was no secret that Frieza was _very_ interested in the work that Bulma had been doing. Even Vegeta had noticed and told her in his backhanded way that she needed to stay as far from Frieza from possible.

Bulma took the moment then to lament that _of course_ the only male attention she was getting was from Frieza—who obviously wanted to use her the same way _everyone else did_ —and Vegeta who while he convinced himself he was using her in the same way was…strange. _It_ was strange, she wasn't sure what was there, it wasn't entirely friendship, but at the same time she didn't feel the same as she did about other men she pursued before. She would be lying outright if she said there wasn't physical attraction, she was only human and he was lonely otherwise, yet she approached it much more carefully than usual not certain what she _wanted_ to come of it.

(It would be much easier if she was only interested in sex, so much easier. Why did she have to become emotionally invested?)

"Then I'll just have to tell him how I'm doing, won't I?" Bulma said, still with that beguiling smile, tucking away the chaotic world inside of her head into a little box.

The unease didn't lift from the air, though the King ended the meeting saying he would arrange everything regardless. Tahaya attempted to pull Bulma aside afterwards for a private chat, but both found that Mosto wasn't far behind no matter. Bulma became annoyed and pulled them both to her capsule house, finding a nasty surprise already inside in the form of Tyber standing in the living room still as a statue. "Seriously, Tyber?!" she groaned, already feeling closed in with the addition of another alien very much taller than her.

At least Tahaya and Mosto were both taller than Tyber, who only shrugged and said he thought they were expected to meet. Mosto must have told him through telepathy to follow as well, wearisome mother hens that they were.

"Tahaya has concerns and appears to be already aware of your relation to the Saiyans," Mosto began, gesturing to her and ignoring the invitation to sit down to make the feeling of them all standing around Bulma less awkward. "Telling her the rest through sharing my memories with her would be quicker."

( _Mosto doesn't know about plotting against Frieza. He doesn't. Don't worry about it, she won't see that._ )

"Fiiiiiine," Bulma sighed, rubbing her temples. She _didn't_ want more people to know the full story, she knew what would come, the sympathetic look Tahaya shot her after their Namekian friend flicked his index upwards told her as much. "Don't look at me like that, Taya," she warned.

"Bulma…he's _using_ you, surely?" Tahaya said regardless of any warning from her.

( _"Take a deep breath. Bulma, do you hear me? Take a deep breath and calm down."_ )

She took in a breath, in, out, in, out—she composed herself to avoid blowing up immediately.

Bulma Briefs did not believe in fate, nor destiny, nor a fully predictable future; she was a woman of science, though magic and science _could_ easily coexist some things were totally improbable. Despite that, she _did_ believe in intuition and with hers she was more aware of others' feelings than she would care to admit. She would brush over her awareness and block it out by prioritizing her _own_ feelings.

That only made sense, didn't it? If she noticed someone's feelings, she became invested, and becoming invested got her into trouble.

She was too young, too beautiful, too _everything_ to become invested in someone else's feelings; and yet, there she was, fully invested.

(The universe surely loved to mock her with petty reminders that she couldn't just have a fun adventure without consequences, didn't it?)

Now there she, _Bulma fucking Briefs,_ was knee-deep in emotional investment and a whole lot of shit. She _understood_ why Tahaya felt the way she did, though Bulma _wanted_ to be angry that she would even think to accuse her of being so _spineless_. She wanted to be angry and throw a fit _so much_ , yet her own voice sounded eerily calm as she answered: "He isn't."

Vegeta _wanted_ to believe that he was, but he wasn't. If anything, though the thought disgusted Bulma to even consider, _he_ was the one being used—his rage and his strength against Frieza. He wasn't a tool and she wasn't some wide-eyed innocent teenager getting in over her head.

(Well…Vegeta _acted_ like a tool sometimes, but that was a different definition than the one he wanted to free himself from. Bulma reminded herself to never call him that during their fights since he would likely mistake the meaning.)

Still, Tahaya was adamant, _sympathy_ shining through more so on her expression than before. "But Bulma, someone like that—?"

"He is _not_ using me," Bulma repeated, shoulders tensing now as she drew herself up to glare at the older woman. " _I_ initiated it! I initiated contact between us! I'm not some stupid little girl that got taken in by a bad man, _I_ set the terms for our agreement and when it's done we will _part ways_."

They would, wouldn't they? There would be no further need to associate after…especially if he claimed he would…

(Ah, there was that painful tug in her chest again, every time she thought of life without Vegeta. _Why…?_ )

"I am responsible for this. I wanted this," she continued levelly, now having an uncanny feeling that wherever Vegeta was he was proud of her nerve.

"Whatever he wants, having an alliance with him however temporary is better than his original intention of killing her," Mosto added.

"And he _did_ intend to kill her originally," Tyber said with a soft tone, eyes cast down like when he usually did while recalling something painful. "You saw it, a Saiyan forced to retreat is a disgraced Saiyan."

Tahaya did not answer for a long moment, looking between the three of them with a helpless expression. When her gaze fell on Bulma, the expression changed to something like wonder, yet still she did not speak, shaking her head over and over again. "Bulma…"

"What?" Bulma grit her teeth, prepared to further argue her point, fists clenched as if she was ready to…what? Fight? Fight for what? To defend Vegeta? "I'm serious!"

"I know you are," she said, eyes turning misty and lip wobbling slightly. "I just…I'm surprised…and proud," Her voice cracked, she swiped at her eyes, "This is a _very_ different conversation than last year. You sounded…so mature."

_Last year?_

What happened last year? Bulma thinned her lips, reaching back into her memory to figure out what was being referenced.

"Your ex-boyfriend," Tahaya explained. "You two weren't in love anymore but didn't want to break up."

Tyber's lip curled in disgust at the mere mention of Yamcha, which confused Bulma as he had never even met him. Then she remembered that she had called him post breakup crying and cringed at the memory.

Telling one's teacher and stand-in father figure that a boy broke her heart was probably not the best first impression.

Shrugging carelessly and saying, "Well, the novelty of me wore off, so I got left behind again," as she did then probably made it worse.

" _Good riddance,_ " he snarled.

Definitely made it worse.

"Easy, easy," Mosto soothed the irritable Saiyan. "The point is, we don't know what Vegeta has in mind, we can only assume for now it's Saiyan ingenuity and desire to become stronger and he will honor the terms of their agreement."

Bulma knew what Vegeta's specific end goal was, of course; she assumed that Tyber and Mosto had suspicions as well, but none of them could speak it aloud. Nobody in the Patrol could even _breathe_ the suggestion of going against Frieza. "And I'm serious about working with the Saiyans to get at Turles," she said, "He would more likely approach one of them. Not to mention with Saiyans being as territorial as they are, they would probably take care of the problem themselves if things work out."

"I guess," Tahaya sighed, shaking her head. "But Bulma, be _careful_ , all right?"

"I always am," Bulma said with a cocky smile.

"And we need to talk about that crap of 'novelty' later, because talk like that's just not gonna stand," she added, turning to leave the capsule house.

"Definitely not going to stand," Tyber agreed, turning to leave along with her.

When Tahaya opened the door, however, Tyber paused and looked over his shoulder at the remaining two. He turned back when the door closed again, a look of exhaustion falling over him. "Bulma…" he rasped, startling her with the sheer _defeat_ he exemplified then. "I don't—I don't want to be _overbearing_ or make you feel as if I'm…being territorial or doubting your—" He shook his head. "You. Doubting you."

"You're trying not to be an overbearing dad, I got that," she sighed, trying to ease him through what it was he wanted to say.

No, if anything Tyber was unexpectedly responsible and attentive in a caring way, something Bulma was very much not used to from an older male figure like him. Her _actual_ father would have only said offhand something about not getting pregnant but otherwise leave her to her own devices. Tyber, as embarrassing as it was for the both of them and as mad as it made her at the time, provided her with a means to avoid such a consequence but showed he trusted her judgment with a blunt "you'll know when you need it." _Don't do that_ in contrast to _you can decide for yourself but I still want to help_

"I just…don't want you to get hurt. Whether or not it's Vegeta that does it."

"I can handle it," Bulma insisted.

"She is still questioning what Turles said to you," Mosto interrupted what was shaping up to be a meaningful moment like a bat to the face.

Bulma winced, looking down to the floor at the sight of Tyber's expression shifting to the dark place he went to. She hated that look so much, he appeared trapped and frightened beyond help when he was in that space. "He said something that hurt you," she explained. "I want to know so I have more reasons to add for beating the shit out of him."

Namekian and Saiyan both stared at the Earthling with equal amounts of dismay and concern. They knew that whatever they said would not deter Bulma from her determination to exact revenge on Turles, Bulma knew that they would still try to keep her away—everyone wanted to keep her from experiencing the full brunt of something. Why? How would that help her? While Bulma disliked being in danger or any inconvenience whatsoever, her sense of spite outweighed any fear she might have had.

"He did not hurt me," Tyber answered from the dark place. "He mistook me for someone else. A ghost. Nothing more than that."

Bulma frowned and opened her mouth to ask what _ghost_ he was referring to but stopped when she saw his closed off posture, his hands shaking, his eyes staring off into somewhere distant. The dark place must have been where that "ghost" lived, and even if Mosto and Bulma couldn't see it, Tyber certainly could. "Okay," she ended up saying instead. "You can't tell Nappa about us going to meet Frieza, all right? I don't know when they're going to get back from their mission, but they can't know anything just in case Frieza says no."

That and she didn't want to deal with Vegeta screaming at her over _something something blah blah blah pride_ or whatever it was that made him hate the idea of her being anywhere near Frieza so much.

"Ah, he hasn't told me when they would be back, but they are leaving tonight. Did you want to…?" he trailed off with a frown.

Say goodbye? She shook her head, waving him off. "I've got work to do here, Kadab's got some backed up stuff since I started tracking Turles."

 _Say goodbye_ , it seemed like they had already done that at the end of the journey to Orui, holding hands until the ship opened after landing back on Vanishing Point. Vegeta had turned completely cold then, not looking back as he left the ship, fully immersing himself in the persona of Frieza's soldier again.

There was no need to drag it out any further; he had already shut her out.

Tyber didn't push it beyond that, only nodded and left to return to his duties, leaving Mosto and Bulma alone there.

"Mosto?" she began after a long silence. "You have some idea of what that tree is, don't you?"

"I do," he responded with candor, folding his arms and staring at a spot on the wall, frowning intently. "It seems impossible that it could be what I think, though. How could someone like Turles have gotten his hands on something meant to be divine…?"

"Tell me all about it, and I'll find a way to deal with that tree," Bulma prompted, brushing aside any implications about a divine tree.

Mosto made a sputtering noise at first before laughing, "Of _course_ you would respond like that! Only _you_ would hear talk of a god tree and say such a thing! Bulma Briefs, you are a reckless creature."

"You're damn right I am," she said with a proud grin.

Like she cared if it was godly or not!

 

* * *

 

 

The night the Saiyans left for what would be some time was an unusually quiet one, if Tyber was being charitable he would think perhaps they would all miss each other. But he wasn't, at least not enough to think the _Saiyans_ would miss anything, his family had grown fond of the trio despite how messed up that idea was to him. Still, as much as he wanted to remain cold towards the men that literally barged into his life, his home, his every waking _thought_ , Tyber had made a promise to himself; at least for repaying Bardock—

 _"Hey, kid, what're you doin' here? Mid-class warriors don't hang out in the slums, huh?"_ —

He shook his head, repeating the sequence on his data terminal to be _certain_ that both files were saved and uncorrupted—he was no technological genius like Bulma, though Tyber had educated himself as best he could with guidebooks only she had the specific knowledge to dig into scouters. Neither of them told Raditz they nicked his scouter to extract and preserve a particular audio file Nappa referenced as being very important, they didn't need to Bulma insisted as it would be a surprise.

Tyber disliked surprises, it felt strange and almost hypocritical to be plotting springing one on some unsuspecting lout, but at least it was a good surprise, he thought, a modest but nice reward for Raditz after completing tail training. Modest? Perhaps not to Raditz, considering how he highly held his parents above everyone else. Saiyan parents that loved their children remained difficult for Tyber to imagine—

 _"Father,"_ the Tyber of the past replied, bloodied, withdrawn, curling himself further into the corner of the alley he had ducked into. He was seven years old then.

 _"Father?"_ the young soldier echoed back with a wry smile, a fresh wound still healing on one side of his face, his hair _wild_ compared to any Saiyans Tyber had seen before. _"Hey kid, I'm not your dad,"_ he joked, holding out a hand to him. _"Too young, ain't I…?"_

His jovial tone faltered when the boy shrank away from the gesture, a serious look entered the soldier's eyes. _"Kid…I'm not gonna hurt ya."_ He turned his palm down to show that no ki attacks would be used against the child.

(That was the _one_ gesture nobody got right when speaking to a Saiyan, it was palm _down_ to show you had no weapons, not _up_.)

_"My name is Bardock, what's yours?"_

_"Tyber, sir,"_ the boy recited mechanically, continuing to subtly shrink away from the presence of an _adult_.

 _" **Sir**? Come **on** , kid!"_ Bardock laughed—

"Tyber?" the voice of Raditz brought him back to the present, he had let himself in while Tyber reflected.

"Evening, Raditz," he answered as mechanically as his recitations of titles and other conditioned lines.

"Yes, it is," Raditz responded, sidling over to stand not beside him but more towards the corner.

The image made something tighten in his chest. The wariness of a prey animal, the distrust of a beaten dog inherent in Raditz's eyes, it was a sight all too familiar to him. "I didn't know you were a comedian," Tyber chuffed with a click of his tongue.

Raditz only shrugged, eyes remaining on the door—it was quite curious how uncomfortable and eager to leave he was, but then again Tyber didn't often allow himself to be alone with the other Saiyans. They were veritable strangers, even if he meant no harm.

Tyber sighed and moved back to the terminal, "I saved your parents' message to you. More accurately, Bulma and I did," he pointed out the file as Raditz's eyes widened. "And this, I promised to show when you—"

"Why?!" Raditz had stiffened, expression a mix of wary and something inscrutable.

Why, as though he did it expecting something in return, as though an act of kindness to make someone happy was impossible. Tyber stared at Raditz, unblinking, accessing the file and allowing it to play. "I did it because I _wanted_ to."

He stayed quiet after the answer, allowing the voices of Bardock and Gine to fill the room and wash over their shell-shocked son. Raditz listened, eyes slowly widening, head shaking, mouthing something to himself over and over. "She told me…" was all Tyber could catch audibly before the message ended.

"She told me…" Raditz repeated. "Bulma told me that she knew our parents wanted us to be together. But I thought she…"

"You thought she was lying," Tyber supplied. "Bulma doesn't lie."

Bulma Briefs was a lot of things, negative and positive, but shockingly a _liar_ wasn't one of them. Even the mistrustful Saiyans noticed that much. The concept clearly still eluded Raditz as his expression worked itself through different levels of confusion—someone, someone really and truly meant no harm, someone was a friend. "Why _not_?" he eventually said in exasperation.

"Frankly, I don't understand her level of sympathy towards Saiyans at all, let alone what seems to be every godsforsaken creature in the galaxy."

Perhaps it wasn't the most reassuring thing to say, but it wasn't like Saiyans were adept at reassurance and Raditz understood anyway as he nodded emphatically. "The way she bonded with—with us. I don't…" He turned a suspicious eye on him next, "And _you_ , I don't understand it. 'Because I wanted to'? What the hell does _that_ mean?"

Tyber frowned, looking away. "Isn't that what being sentimental is about? Just doing things that don't make sense, because your heart told you to?"

He scoffed, a strange cracking wheeze present in his voice, "You sound like my mother."

It _wasn't_ an insult. "Thanks."

"At the same time, though…" Raditz's tone had become quiet, questioning, almost bewildered. "You also sound like my father."—

 _"Tyber, huh? Yeah, if I'm thinkin' right, your old man is definitely someone to avoid."_ Bardock paused, scratching at his chin and looking somewhere off in the middle distance.

Whatever he was thinking of mattered little to the boy, though he had shrunk away too far now and was unable to move more. Perhaps he could fly? No, but then _someone_ might _see him_.

_"Hey, tell ya what, why don't you come stay with me for a bit? Gets cold 'round this time of night, and one of my teammates always makes too much food when she comes to visit, can never finish it all myself."_

The child froze, staring up at him, flabbergasted. _"Wh…why…?"_

This man was just…telling him it was all right to come into his own space? He wouldn't be in the way, he wouldn't be underfoot, he wouldn't be _weak weak weak you useless boy PROVE YOU'RE A TRUE SAIYAN—_

 _"Why?"_ Bardock repeated the question, sweeping aside the growl of his father whispering all his own inadequacies. _"I want to, there's no real deep reason to it, kid, I just want to."_

_"W…wa…nt…"_

Want. To do something out of one's own desire, without the command or prompting of another person. Wanting to do something that didn't _make sense_ , at that. Who would show such sentimentality to a _stranger_ out of _want_?—

"Well…" Raditz shuffled, mumbling something about needing to be somewhere else.

Saiyans didn't do well with heart to hearts, nor did they do well with compliments, Tyber wouldn't further embarrass Raditz by insisting he stay and _talk some more_. He only nodded and let the younger Saiyan go, noting that Raditz still seemed to carry some heavy burden on his shoulders as he left.

That could have gone worse.

Though the stone sitting heavily in his stomach told him that it wasn't going to get better.

 

* * *

 

 

Bulma didn't come back to the Heran household that night, choosing instead to work on GP projects with the hideous creature that poked too far into her business. It suited Vegeta fine, Nappa teased him about being upset she hadn't come to say goodbye, but he really wasn't. He wasn't. He didn't want any nonsense with sentimental goodbyes and the possibility of her _hugging_ him in front of other people, though she insisted that she was going to keep that business _private_.

Such things shouldn't be on his mind at any rate, he needed to put himself back into the ruthless mindset he was more accustomed to; _Prince Vegeta_ wasn't some alien woman's _friend_ , he didn't concern himself with _lesser lifeforms_ , and he certainly didn't _actively associate_ with them.

Well, presently he was sitting at a large eating table regarding the lifeforms he was _forced_ to associate with (plus his brother). His eyes cast over each one of them as they went through their individual nonsense; Tyber was drinking coffee while looking over something on a data pad, Tarble was assisting Broly with something Vegeta couldn't give any less of a damn about, and…

He stalled, trying to think of the name of the woman that frequently associated with Bulma and for some gods-that-don't-exist-forsaken reason _changed personalities_ with a sneeze. Lunch? Paunch? Ranch?

Whatever, her name didn't matter (gods-that-don't-exist only knew why Raditz became so fond of her anyway) the point was—though he _loathed_ speaking to the chirpier types—that woman was an Earthling too. _She_ could answer the question that had been inexplicably resting in his mind despite Vegeta knowing he _really_ should not dwell on such a thing and asking aloud would likely damage his pride. There were more important things to think about, were there not? Like the mission, like getting back into the mindset of a _soldier_ …

(How proud Bulma's taking a stand against the female Dodoria made him. The strange elation at her establishing she _wanted_ their association. The equally strange flutter of anticipation and wondering if he would hear her say the words "my man" again in description of him, since she was with the hideous creature.)

"Vegeta," Tarble's voice shook him out of his thoughts, he blinked, staring over at his brother with the air of being accosted by a stranger about religion on the street. "You know it's rude to stare," he said primly. "If you wanted to say something to Miss Launch, get it out now."

 _Launch!_ That was the name! (And how in the universe could Tarble _tell_ he wanted to say something?)

Her dark eyes reflected confusion as she looked between Tarble and Vegeta, fingers nervously wrapping around and tugging on the braid Raditz had managed to form her rebellious curls into.

(How did _Raditz_ of all people manage it? Their peculiar but consistent ritual of brushing each other's hair, they seemed so at ease, unaffected by the intimacy of such a thing. Unlike them, _he_ came undone at the feeling of Bulma's fingers through his hair, felt an immeasurable and _foreign_ peace at feeling her soft tresses.)

"I haven't found anything about Earth in the texts here," he forced himself away from his thoughts with a severe tone, now focusing entirely on the hapless female.

(What did Raditz _see_ in her? …Why did Vegeta compare her to Bulma at every opportunity, come to think of it? Such petty thinking was not befitting of a prince. Or perhaps it was, with Vegeta's relentless desire to compete and be _better_ in all aspects.)

"You've…been reading our texts?" Tyber responded first, mug raised halfway to his mouth twisted in disbelief and suspicion.

"Are you suggesting I _don't_ read?" Vegeta impulsively retorted whilst Tarble pressed a hand to his forehead and sighed.

The older Saiyan didn't answer then, only sipping that bizarre Earth sludge known as coffee as he watched Vegeta with his characteristic unblinking stare.

"Between training, it seems unusual that you would take the time to read," Broly filled in the space for his "brother", elbows resting on the table to lean forward and meet Vegeta's gaze. "Between that, eating, and antagonizing big sister, really," he added with a lilt of sardonic rancor.

_Oh, you little **shit.**_

(Leaving aside that Broly was nearing Raditz's height at that point, of course.)

"Well, I do," Vegeta huffed, crossing his arms petulantly. He actually enjoyed reading quite a bit! When he had time! They didn't have to look at him like it was such a _ridiculous idea._ "And I've found your information on Earth lacking!"

"Earth is more of an isolated planet," Tyber explained. "The only intelligent life in that quadrant exists on Earth and Mars, and we all know Martians are disinclined towards little more than petty fights and feeble attempts at conquering other planets."

"And the _Earthlings_ keep themselves ignorant," he rolled his eyes, scoffing, entirely oblivious to the gradual furrowing of Launch's brow and her glare.

"Excuse me, Mr. Vegeta," her voice piped up, bringing Vegeta's attention back to the topic at hand. "I know I'm an ignorant Earthling and all, but can you get to the point?"

Oh. _There_ was what Raditz saw in her. He was so stunned by the comment he only stared at her for a moment, mouth agape. Broly and Tarble were hiding laughter behind their hands while Tyber hid his mirth behind the mug. _How dare they._ "Is betrothal common on your _backwater planet_ or not?!" he burst, slamming his hands on the table to glare at her.

It probably wasn't the best plan to just shout it out like that, it probably made how awkward the question even was worse.

Tyber spat out his coffee on the table, coughing and choking. The two younger Saiyans reared back, staring at Vegeta as if he had suddenly announced he wasn't wearing undergarments.

Definitely made things worse.

"Why…?" Launch stammered, hand flying to her mouth, eyes growing as large as the saucers in the cabinet off to the side. "Wh-why are you asking something like that, Mr. Vegeta?"

"Tyber," Vegeta commanded, freezing the Patroller in the spot as he stood to retrieve a drying cloth for the mess he made. "You remember, don't you? After seeing _it_ , she brought it up herself."

"I remember," Tyber clipped, facing away to occupy himself with the drying cloth. "You're reading too much into hyperbole."

"I am _not_ ," he insisted back, crossing his arms, tail waving back and forth across the floor as he spoke. "There was a _reason_ she brought that up!"

The other three at the table, having not been present for what they were talking about, only stared between them with looks of varying levels of mystified.

"…Brother," Tarble tried valiantly to bring reason back into the nonsense. "Are you saying Bulma mentioned betrothal?"

He went to answer in confirmation and explain but became caught up on the realization that mentioning candidly _yes Bulma talked about us being betrothed_ made his ears burn. "…She did," he finally choked out.

"Oh, I see," Launch said, bringing her index finger to her lips in a gesture of pondering. "Well, it used to be more common back in the old days, yes. Wealthy or noble families would make sure their children marry into families of equal status. Nowadays it's less…um, overt? But I suppose families that are traditional will still… _suggest_ who their children should date."

Was that how Earthlings did it? Vegeta's brow furrowed in consideration. Making sure the status quo was upheld in the bloodlines made sense, but why did the _parents_ make that decision? What if they chose someone that didn't live up to the status of the progeny? What if they couldn't beat them in a _fight?_ (And what the hell was a _date_?)

…Bulma's family was well-off, the richest family on Earth so she said, practically _would be_ considered royalty by other planetary standards or at least incredibly powerful. But considering how long she had stayed with the inferior male who was _clearly_ below her station, he didn't see her parents as the type to push that sort of thing.

"Dr. Briefs and Mrs. Briefs would never _arrange_ something like that, yes," she agreed when Vegeta mentioned (part) of what he was thinking. "Err…" She paused, eyes casting awkwardly to Tyber for a moment. "Although…Mrs. Briefs _has_ been telling Bulma that, um…she knows some nice men she can date since she's…on the market again."

 _On the market_. Vegeta's frown deepened, the rest of the Saiyans' expressions twisted in confusion at the words. On the market? Like Bulma was for sale? Like Bulma was _meat_? That phrasing and the level of possessiveness it implied was _very_ peculiar. ( _And what was a DATE?!_ )

"Do Earthlings engage in cannibalism? Why would they sell their women on the market, then?" he asked, narrowing his eyes, deciding for the moment he didn't like Earth men very much. Vegeta would never claim himself to be a bastion of chivalry (the fact that he opposed the act of violating someone against their will should have been _common sense_ ) but at least he could say he disliked slavery as a whole.

(He _couldn't_ say that he had never eaten an alien lifeform, though it had been done out of necessity and he never _purchased_ anyone for it, nor would he have the power to stop slave trade as a concept since _of course_ he was one himself.)

"N…no, that's not what that means," Launch stumbled over trying to contextualize the vocabulary. "I—I suppose out of context it _does_ sound a little odd, but—"

" _But_ men treat women like _shit_ down there!" a gruff voice cut into the room, sounding wholly unlike what Launch would have said herself. It was Raditz, coming in through the doorway with Nappa having finished their preparations, already in a huff about what he apparently perceived to be unfair treatment of Earth women. Raditz was oddly full of vigor as he went right into all of what Launch told him about her mistreatment at the hands of men (while the woman herself tried to downplay it).

Vegeta tuned out a good half portion after the initial interest, searching his link with Bulma to dig up any of her interactions with men outside of what _she_ had said. He was able to conclude a couple of things: he _really_ didn't care for Earth men, they were so spineless they felt the need to have timid and obedient women to feel powerful over, they often used belittling speech like talking to a child towards women. They were also _lewd_ (even more so than Bulma!) and spoke the phrase "you're smart for a girl" as if it was the only way of speaking to a woman they could think of. (Implying women were inherently unintelligent? What did their gender have to do with it?)

Or at least they would to Bulma, then proceed to attempt wooing her with the idea of being an arm ornament in their opulent lifestyles—just be a complacent and cute doll, no need for complicated science experiments. They brushed off her genius like it was nothing, yawned and brought the subject back to things called _yachts_ and _golf_ , whatever the hell those were. Her interests were ignored and Bulma, pleasingly enough, responded by dumping her drink on their expensive suits or—better—bested them with a well-placed punch to the nose; no wonder she acted surprised when he expressed interest in what she was talking about, reminded him he could ask her to stop _when_ he grew bored until he tersely insisted if she was so eager not to share she must have nothing to show. Of course, that brought the angry flush to her cheeks Vegeta found so amusing followed by a sharply spiteful tirade on advances in medical technology she made on a whim one day. He didn't understand why, but it _never_ bored him hearing her talk about her work that made her feel happy and _alive,_ he wanted to hear all the details, ask and answer questions between them, anything to keep her talking (though he would typically want her to shut up). Her passion was strangely infectious, admirable, totally inexplicable in how much he enjoyed it.

He also didn't understand why Bulma tortured herself with persisting in courtship with tiresome Earth men, what was the purpose in it? Companionship? Vegeta _should_ have felt like a hypocrite for being possessive and jealously protective of her, but he would only go so far as to admit it was _very_ immature and not sensible (or sane) in the slightest. It was _different_ , Vegeta's stubborn pride insisted, she wasn't a pretty little _object_ to him to be used as a fuck-toy and status symbol. He wouldn't delude himself any longer with saying there was _no_ sexual desire or acknowledgement that she was stunning (for an alien) but somehow—in some insane way he could hardly comprehend and feared identifying—Bulma Briefs was _more_ than that. So much more. A friend, someone he trusted though he still fought against the idea of fully embracing it, someone he believed in the capability of who believed in him just as much. She didn't bother herself with his status or power, Bulma moved past all of that and connected right to his spirit itself.

It remained difficult to believe that such a _spark_ was struck from something as absurd as her forcing a retreat on him over a decade ago. Difficult that when she was with him, Vegeta felt like he had a _heart and soul,_ that he was a man that existed for a reason besides being a flawless killing machine and the favorite pet prince of Frieza. Difficult, just like _her_ , it was a dream, wasn't it? Something would snap, and it would all be _gone_.

"—Anyway, like I told Launch, Mother would beat the shit out of Earth men," he tuned back into Raditz _talking_ as he usually did.

Vegeta refocused on the occupants of the table—Tyber was nodding in agreement with Raditz, expressing that her first shot should be at Yamcha—who? Oh, right, the weakling that wasted Bulma's time. He was inclined to agree though he didn't understand the dislike Tyber held in particular—was it for the same reason Launch glanced at him before explaining "the market"? He honestly didn't need to carry on with that fatherly protectiveness—it wasn't very proper for a Saiyan and he was _not_ her father (just like he wasn't Tarble's brother— _he's not **your** brother, he's **mine**_ ) sentimental ones were simply unfathomable.

"I would give _all_ of my credits to see Gine beat the shit out of Earthlings," Nappa added insistently from his position of leaning on the far end of the table (seats were strangely awkward for the old man, though the Herans _did_ have seating that accommodated his size.)

Tarble winced, trying to show some reason, explained that there was really no _need_ to beat up any Earthlings for any perceived wrong-doing or possessiveness towards their friends. "Aren't you all treating Bulma and Launch as possessions to guard like they can't take care of themselves too?"

That little shit, he had a point, even if Vegeta automatically wanted to argue for the sake of being _right_ and reminding himself he was a reasonable superior lifeform. Before he could think to say something, however, Broly butted into the conversation with a forceful: "That's _different_."

Vegeta agreed, not that he would _say_ or indicate that he agreed, he mashed down his rebellious thoughts and tried to rationalize himself _how_ it was different.

It certainly wasn't for the reason Broly insisted it was as he continued: "Bulma and Launch are _family_ , they're _important_." An unusual glint had come into his eyes as he emphasized "important"—the same almost wild quality to him that he had shown in sparring. The boy _could_ keep up with Vegeta quite well, he had learned as they began training together, though he still seemed to actively fight for control over something within him while they sparred. He never bothered with hiding it when it came to morality topics; Broly was atypically _kind_ for a Saiyan and didn't keep quiet about what he viewed as "good" and "right."

(It was nauseating, really. Sentimental Saiyans would be the death of Vegeta.)

Launch, to her credit, tried to keep the peace too, saying not _all_ men acted so obnoxious and it was only bad because it was out of context. She also shyly thanked Broly for including her as family, which Vegeta rolled his eyes at and disengaged from.

No, he saw it _in_ context through Bulma's memories, there was a marked difference in how males treated her, even if they were fellow scientists; they scoffed and presumed her to know nothing until, of course, Bulma forcefully proved herself. She would then set them into line like the leader she knew herself to be, subjugating any feeble man who dared to underestimate her. It appeared some females, including herself before being trained out of it, felt no recourse but to play into the helpless woman act just to get by.

This was more thought he had ever put into gender than he imagined he would have before, usually when he overheard other soldiers talking about women he ignored it. Nevertheless, what he remembered of Saiyan women told him that if any of _them_ were treated in such a way, someone would die.

"I guess Bulma is lucky her parents are nuts," Raditz commented, breaking Vegeta out of his puzzling over gender nonsense. "If they weren't, she'd probably be set to marry some incompetent asshole by now and expected to pop out kids."

_Disgusting._

"Pop out?" Vegeta echoed, attention inexplicably seized by the phrasing.

"Oh, yeah, Earthlings birth their young," Raditz shrugged, a disbelieving grin showing itself for the first time.

_They what._

"They what."

 **_Why_ ** _?!_

"Gross!" Nappa laughed, clutching his stomach. "Don't they have tubes?"

 _Don't they?_ Vegeta wouldn't think so, Earthlings were so backwards they didn't even have capabilities of space travel at the current time, regardless trying to _fathom_ the idea of _carrying and birthing_ young was improbable. The only Saiyans at the table who seemed unsurprised and not disgusted or amused by the primitive idea were the Patroller and two youngest. (Perhaps the Herans carried and birthed their young as well?)

"Ah, no, we don't," Launch gently corrected. "I don't think most would use incubation like that even if they had the option. The experience of pregnancy and giving birth is one of the hallmarks of becoming a mother."

Though Saiyans eliminated carrying brats and birthing a long time ago, Vegeta understood that it was a demanding process on the body with even risk of the mother dying in the act. Earthlings put their health at such a risk for _feelings_?  How nauseating. They truly were a hopeless species.

At least considering the topic steered him away from the discomfiting idea of Bulma being promised to another man, especially against her will.

Launch, not that he cared, looked perplexed as to why she was dragged into the conversation at the start and excused herself to pack some extra food capsules for them. Why? He didn't know, Earthlings were a funny race with their insistence on compassion.

"If my father had decided he could dictate my affairs in such a way," Vegeta said as she left, "I would have killed him."

Was he being naïve in assuming his father _wouldn't_ have done such a thing? He tried again to picture a scenario where the planet was still intact, and he had a real chance of becoming King, he supposed he would be expected to take a Queen and produce an heir to continue the line. The more he tried to imagine it the more exhausting it sounded, there was no way a Saiyan woman would have the sort of fire he would hypothetically want in that sort of _association_. They would probably primp and be subservient, no challenge, utterly _boring_. He might as well find a means to become immortal so there would be no _need_ for an heir. His respect for his father and tradition warred against his _resentment_ towards the same topics.

(Why was he making such assumptions about Saiyan women? The hierarchy, he supposed. And when did he start to specifically _want_ a challenge as opposed to submissiveness? Was it a sign of aging or slipping into madness?)

"Right, you wouldn't be as happy with an actual Saiyan woman like you are with Bulma," Tarble agreed, instantly sweeping away the discomfort and bringing Vegeta out of the hellscape of his own mind with a teasing smirk.

Vegeta's reply to his _asshole little brother_ was a swift kick to the shin and a demand that he shut up as Tyber rolled his eyes in disgust. "I think we've heard enough on that topic," the older Saiyan grunted, pushing himself out of his chair and gesturing to Nappa. Whatever the gesture meant, Vegeta wasn't certain, but Nappa obliged by following after Tyber anyway. Raditz grimaced, looking between the remaining three Saiyans before taking his leave, muttering something about checking on Launch.

"Teacher," Broly was the first to break the silence, using that unfamiliar address that he had taken to for Vegeta (who naturally wouldn't admit that something about being called it stroked his ego quite nicely). "How long do you suppose you'll be away?"

Surprised though he was that Broly didn't roll into some diatribe about how it was terrible he was going off on a purging mission, Vegeta only shrugged in reply. "It's in another galaxy entirely, and with the modifications Bulma did on our pods I can't be sure how long."

Tarble offered no comment, glancing between the two of them with an uncomfortable smile. He knew what a purge entailed, just as Vegeta knew that even if Tarble retained Saiyan instinct to fight he had no urge for _destruction_. He would never be able to stomach the idea of fighting or killing for dominance, probably would never kill at all.

Vegeta was further surprised to realize that he didn't _mind_ Tarble not wanting to kill and wanted to be sure he would never be forced to. That wasn't productive to putting himself back into the mindset of the destroyer of worlds warrior prince he knew himself to be. He didn't know if it was lingering youthful naivete or something else entirely that influenced his thoughts into such soppiness, what a vexing load of nonsense. If he wasn't careful, he would start whining like Raditz about never being a "true" Saiyan warrior—he was _already_ a true Saiyan warrior, doubting that was for weaklings!

"I see…" Broly trailed off, pressing his fingers to his lips in a gesture of thinking. "In that case, I will continue training in the ship while you're gone, so I can beat you."

"You couldn't possibly!" Vegeta snorted, shaking his head at what an absurd idea the whelp just put forth.

"I think I will, too," Tarble added with a nod. "If you're away for a while, Bulma would have no reason to maintain the gravity machine."

It became less amusing as an idea the more they seriously discussed it, even suggesting bringing Tyber into the ship for training. They seemed to forget he was there entirely as Broly brought up training with Bulma, too.

He tensed, a wave of phantom pain coming over him at the thought of Bulma's attempts at gravity training—the popping of joints and the tearing of muscles, the sheer agony and helpless feeling of impending collapse. As she told Tyber then, humans did not come back from the brink of death with the same energy boost as Saiyans, their injuries—the more grievous they were—tended to stay on. She could have been permanently damaged _._ He realized his hands were shaking as the echoes of her screams of agony reverberated through their link, leg bouncing restlessly, tail twitching—sick, felt sick, if Bulma was ever hurt like that and he couldn't have prevented it—

"Brother?"

Vegeta's head snapped up, a feral growl coming from his mouth before any clear words, teeth bared in a rare show of threat against his own brother.

Tarble leaned back slightly in surprise while Broly leaned forward, shoulders hunched to make himself a shield for the smaller Saiyan. "As I was saying," Tarble continued like his older brother didn't just growl at him like a territorial animal. "Bulma doesn't do gravity training anymore, Broly, the effects on the bodies of Earthlings isn't the same as on Saiyans."

"I see," Broly absently responded, relaxing his posture. "I forget that she's more delicate than us."

To be fair to him, it _was_ easy to forget—Bulma wasn't _weak_ , but she wasn't physically on par with Saiyans and never would be. Vegeta's thoughts being consumed by the memory of Bulma's last session in gravity training sent restless energy to his fingers tapping against the table. He felt the pain so acutely he almost expected to see the blood on his own hands as it poured down her arm in rivulets. Of course they stopped then, Tyber exclaiming in horror, asking why didn't she _say something_. He wasn't sure if it was because Bulma was too proud to say or it Tyber was too ignorant to Earthling biology to realize what would happen. Her arm skewed unnaturally, her vision wobbled, he could hear her voice reassuring the coward that it was _fine_ but _maybe it wasn't going to work in the future after all let's just leave it to weighted clothes_. Tyber was inconsolable. She firmly pulled him from the sunken place he went to with a command of **_"Do better."_**  

Do better, she ordered, and he nodded obediently—a soldier taking instruction without question from a warrior Queen who feared nothing. Vegeta understood that idea better than a teacher taking advice from his student, the teachers were supposed to be the imparters of knowledge, weren't they?

Vegeta _didn't_ understand her clemency interlaced with her baffling show of strength and how it _influenced_ as it did. Must have been the natural moxie as a leader, a fiery spirit, a _bright_ spirit—brightest Rokufu had seen in centuries, whatever _that_ meant.

"Teacher? You're cracking the table."

"Mind your own business!" he snapped, standing up to stalk away. "And stay the hell out of my ship!"

"Don't worry about that, Broly," Tarble assured him, not even waiting for Vegeta to be out of earshot. "He'll get over it."

He would most certainly _not_ get over it!

Nappa tried to hail him as he passed Tyber's office, saying something about the calendar in his scouter being upside down and being wrong about his alleged birthdate— _we're all formed in tubes, who **cares**?!—_ but Vegeta stormed past, uncaring, a torrent of anger and violence already welling up inside of him. Needed to fight, to _destroy_ , needed to leave _now_.

The sound of Launch chastising Raditz about something out front at the pods brought him to a pause.

"You _can't_ tell her that, Raditz!" her voice pleaded, sounding desperate. "You can't tell her Turles looks like Goku!"

Ah, so that's what it was, the idiots _had_ encountered Turles—the details weren't too clear, all Raditz and Nappa would say was that he felt _wrong_. An absurd prospect, really, Turles was no different from _them_ as far as having no pesky sentiments and "morals" weighing him down. The only thing Vegeta would say was that he was lowborn filth (obviously) and the type of hedonistic degenerate he didn't care for regardless—but no, they _insisted_ , he was _wrong_. They couldn't describe it, Launch refused to speak of the incident, even Tyber who was—according to Nappa—recognized by the felon didn't say a word about it. The Namek only spoke some vague mystical claptrap about him being a living corpse with a _rotted soul_ and nothing more.

"Why not?" Raditz asked.

"He's her best friend!" Now the woman sounded on the verge of tears.

While the statement nauseated him with how _sappy_ it was, Vegeta understood intellectually what she meant. _Seeing_ Turles would unsettle Bulma, although she was not frail like her absurd friend, she had an…attachment to Kakarot. Something more profound, something based in trust and security—if she encountered _Turles_ who had little more than his own pleasure in mind as opposed to _Kakarot_ who swore to protect her…it wouldn't be a simple matter to brush off. Despite the fact she was more than capable of protecting herself presently than when she first met Kakarot, she didn't consider her limits when something _enraged_ her, and fear still froze her in place though she used her _defiance_ as a shield to hide it.

"But I don't want her to be surprised when she sees him!" Raditz insisted.

"She won't," Vegeta took the moment then to announce his presence, striding down the steps of the Herans' front porch to join them at the pods. "She will never meet with Turles." _Not if **I** have anything to say about it,_ his insubordinate thoughts added. "Go get Nappa, we're leaving _now_ ," he ordered with a jerk of his head back to the house.

Raditz only stammered affirmatives and left, leaving Vegeta at an unusually awkward impasse with Launch. Disappointingly her hostile attitude from earlier had faded back into her usual meekness as she smiled at him. "Thank you…" she said after a hesitant breath. "I'm glad Bulma has you looking out for her, Mr. Vegeta."

 _Mister._ He wasn't a _mister_ , he was a _prince._ He scoffed in disgust at her kind words, "Don't mistake my intent. I simply don't want her thinking she can run away from our agreement by—" _Dying. Leaving._ "—Chasing after Turles."

She frowned, her eyes a cloud of irritation much like Tarble's on the day he had _cursed_ at Vegeta. (How were the quiet, gentle ones turning out to be more difficult than outwardly aggressive aliens he had met in the past?!) "You can't control her, Mr. Vegeta," she said, giving him her back as Raditz returned with Nappa in tow. "I realize that's frustrating for you, but Bulma can't be told what to do. She _won't_ be. And you already know that, there's no sense in being…" Launch paused, humming in consideration. "Childish."

_Stop being such a fucking **child**!_

They kept telling him that. It was rich. As if he had the luxury of being remotely childish, even when he was a boy. "Don't presume you know anything about me, wench!" he derided her in return. "Mind your own business!"

"Bulma _is_ my business," Launch replied, glancing over her shoulder at him shrewdly. Raditz halted, recognizing that there was some sort of conversation already in progress, Nappa only looked between them as if waiting for his cue to mediate between arguing children. "Friends look out for each other, you know _that_ too, even if you're in denial."

 _Fuck_ , when did the woman grow a spine _without_ the aid of her more psychotic half!? Not like Vegeta cared, though, she was _wrong_ anyway. He wasn't sure why he watched Raditz and Launch saying their goodbyes to each other then, he also wasn't sure why he compared it to one of his last conversations with Bulma before shutting her out and abandoning her warmth again, but he did. He watched keenly as they exchanged words of "be careful" and reassurances that she didn't need to worry, and…that was all?

They only smiled at each other and Raditz walked past her to his pod, followed by Nappa who waved to her and the gathering household on the porch.

Really? He would have figured Raditz _would_ be softhearted enough to at least hold her hands, but no, they only spoke partings and left it at that. Even _he_ could admit that once he experienced touch and was offered more from Bulma, he answered not with verbal eagerness but with action, holding her against him, feeling her heartbeat, truly being able to notice and appreciate for the first time how soft her skin felt as he absently smoothed one hand over the exposed small of her back. The other hand, reflective of his odd fixation, ran curious fingers through her silky locks, marveling at how _unreal_ the goodness of it all was. He was holding another living being with no intent to harm or kill, he was allowing that being to whisper words of encouragement that he didn't have to rush and asked permission to touch him back, he _allowed_ her to touch back until the sensation overloaded his mind and she pulled away asking if he was all right. Nobody _asked_ if he was all right with such sincerity, with no fear, no immediate subservience to him. It continued to nag at him as he nodded to the waving weaklings and shut his pod for takeoff. He should have been activating the sequence to put him into suspended animation, but—"Raditz," he opened a direct communication line between their pods instead.

 _"Yeah?"_ Raditz's voice answered back.

He didn't sound happy or easygoing as he had been while on the invisible planet. It similarly struck Vegeta in a strange way that they hadn't had time with just each other either lately, Raditz had opted out of training with him entirely when Broly came into the picture. He seemed to prefer spending his time training with Bulma and Tarble, in addition to showing the Launch woman some techniques. Raditz was having _fun_ there, _he_ was changing too though unlike Vegeta the attitude was more akin to the cheerful demeanor he displayed as a boy, before being conscripted fully into Frieza's army. Before that liveliness was beaten out of him and he began to frost over into a manipulative, sadistic personality.

Vegeta would never express guilt for participating in the breaking down of Raditz. That was certainly not why he was thinking of it. He didn't even know what guilt _was_ as a concept.

Raditz was changing, like he was, but _Raditz_ was offering less resistance, or at least none that could be perceived without careful observation if his lack of…contact with Launch was any indication.

Why did it bother him so much?

 _"…So…I'm glad Launch packed food,"_ Raditz broke the silence when Vegeta failed to follow up on the conversation.

He was, too, as was Nappa, though neither of the elites would speak such a thing _aloud_. While the bases did provide food to all soldiers, they in no way accommodated a typical Saiyan appetite—not for lack of resources, of course, but pure sadism. The Saiyans learned quickly to save and pool their credits for more proper meals, measure portions and analyze calories to maximize on the most nutrition in a standard serving to keep hunger weakness at bay. Having a full stomach consistently was new, as was sleeping uninterrupted outside of pods, he almost thought something was wrong when he noticed more bulk had been added to his musculature and his eyes appeared less dull. Good health and strengthening had its detriment, however, they were _used_ to the luxury when they would soon return to the survival mode of consuming deceased aliens and carefully budgeting food. Apparently the Earth woman refused to allow them to return to such abysmal diets (though nothing could be done about the sleep).

The silence dragged on.

 _"Uh…what did you want to talk about?"_ Raditz asked with all the wariness of preparing for a punch in the face.

"Launch," he rumbled back, surprised at himself that he used the woman's name. "Do you forget her easily?"

…That…wasn't how he wanted to phrase the query, Raditz's palpable silence of confusion at the other end showed he couldn't quite catch onto what Vegeta's convoluted question even meant.

"I mean to say…why don't you…?"

_"…Do I or don't I forget Launch? What are you getting at?"_

Vegeta's see-through patience disintegrated entirely. "Why don't you _touch her,_ you impotent buffoon?!"

Were Raditz able to be seen, his jaw would have hung open at that Vegeta imagined, but he allowed no interruption as he went on: "You put on this farce of _being friends_! But you don't touch! You don't do anything except playing with each other's _blasted hair_ , you never talk about her!"

 _"Why would I…talk about her? With who? …You?"_ he stammered.

Yes.

No.

…Not sure? Did he _want_ to hear about Launch? Not really, there would be the expectation of reciprocation—talk about Bulma with Raditz. The thought annoyed him; the damnable woman already plagued his every waking moment, why would he remind himself of her with _talking_?

_"And what does it matter to you if I do or don't touch her? Are—are you trying to imply something?"_

"I couldn't care less about whether or not you're sleeping with the damned woman," Vegeta growled. "That's not what I meant, get your mind out of the gutter!" He took a breath, trying to recollect his thoughts. _Bulma_ held his hand, Bulma rested her head on his shoulder in a relaxed doze, Bulma…his cheeks grew warm at the memory of her kissing him oh-so chastely.

She kissed him on the goddamned cheek, all right?! She did that too, she did that like he wasn't some murderous asshole! And he _let_ her as if he was a regular person and not a murderous asshole that shouldn't experience nice things! It didn't bother him as much as it should have! So what?! He didn't _make_ her! _Nothing beyond that happened!_

He was in over his head.

 _"Well…"_ Raditz's voice trailed off again, doubt coloring his tone, perhaps some insecurity. _"She's…how do I put this? This would be so much easier to explain if you were actually listening when I was talking at the table."_

Shit, he could _tell_?

_"I think she's been…taken advantage of. By men. A couple of times. So…one half of her is too pure to initiate things like that, and the other is suspicious."_

(What relevance her supposed pureness had to the topic missed Vegeta entirely.)

If Raditz was expecting Vegeta to sympathize it would mean he had genuinely lost his mind and forgotten how Vegeta operated, and the prince would be disappointed if he _did_ forget. Sympathy was overrated, no matter how sad the story (even if any kind of creature that would take advantage in that way was little more than dishonorable trash in his eyes). Besides, he vindictively compared it to Bulma again, _she_ wasn't so flimsy that she allowed some bad encounters to…to what? Meet with a man some 13 years later that threatened to kill her but turned out to be easily swayed by her smile and willingness to let him indulge in the security of her embrace and _not_ run screaming like she should have?

_"…Uh, do **you** touch Bulma?"_

"None of your business," he ground back automatically, speaking all the evidence needed to conclude _why yes, in fact, he did._

_"In that case, tell Nappa, maybe he'll stop trying to get you to come on pleasure breaks."_

"Not _that_ kind of touching!"

Didn't Raditz know him better than that?! His discipline was ironclad!

_"Okay, this is a riveting conversation and all, Vegeta, but we need to sign off and go to sleep, don't we?"_

He would never _ever_ admit that Raditz was right or had a point, Vegeta shut off the communication without so much as a grunt in answer and turned on the suspended animation sequence. He only hoped humiliating and asinine _dreams_ about touching Bulma wouldn't sneak into his subconscious while he was vulnerable in rest, he didn't need anymore confusion in his mind about his own self-indulgent weakness.

Somewhere back in Galactic Patrol HQ, down in the tech section, Bulma Briefs sneezed. At the same time back on Vanishing Point, Launch sneezed as well, though that had more drastic consequences.

 

* * *

 

 

The King was putting off setting up her meeting with Frieza. He knew it, Bulma knew it, even Jaco knew it. He sat in his office fretting and fussing, wringing his appendages, not getting anything _done_.  While Bulma realized it was unkind to push him, her need to get things _done_ outweighed any inclination towards being gentle.

"Your Majesty," she said in her detached business tone on the second day of no announcement or attempts at contact. "I understand Frieza scares the living daylights of you, but we need to get something going right away."

For a moment, something crueler whispered at her to refer to the King as "Kato" just like Frieza did in their personal chats over a private (until Bulma hacked into the channel) line. Any tactician knew that to intimidate someone— _really_ scare the hell out of them—or dominate them was to _know_ them. A personal name they never used, a "secret" getaway place, someone dear to them, a character flaw, and maybe some skeletons in the closet for good measure. Frieza was very, very, _very_ personal with the King, and for all Bulma understood the _everything_ behind it, she pushed aside the thought. She pushed aside everything that Frieza talked to the King about. She was clever and knew how to get her way on something, but Bulma Briefs was _not_ a cruel person like Frieza.

 _"What are your Patrollers to you, Kato? Loyal subjects?"_ the repulsive lizard chuckled in their last conversation. _"I find a good healthy dose of **fear** keeps my men loyal just as well. One of my pet monkeys was difficult at first, and he still rebels from time to time—you know, actually, your technician reminds me a little of him. She has that same fire, though she's **much** more pleasant to speak with and easier on the eyes, for a mammal."_

_"Ah…y-you mean Officer Bulma…? Well, she…"_

_"Kato, do you know the true fun of having a toy to play with? I'll give you an example, Miss Bulma with that fiery spark in her eyes, that clever tongue, that strong will—it's delightful to see toys like her **break** , Kato. The light dims in their eyes, they become so **quiet** , and oh the fear, I can almost taste it."_

_"L-Lord Frieza!"_

_"Come now, Kato, don't fuss. I wouldn't treat a gem like her to the lashings my monkey gets. I don't need to lay a single hand on her for that."_

Bulma shuddered internally at the memory—Frieza was becoming pushier day by day about allowing him to "borrow" her from the Patrol. Her requesting to _be_ in Frieza's base, in his presence, speaking about _working_ with him was akin to dumping barbeque sauce on herself and falling into a lion pit. Truthfully, for all of her bravado, she didn't want to think of it or deal with it either. She didn't want to risk her own safety, she _wanted_ to heed everyone's warnings and fall back into their protection as far away from Frieza as far as possible.

But her reckless courageous spirit shoved all of that down, saying the risk _needed_ to be taken, it was a means to an end so Vegeta could become strong enough to kill Frieza. _Take your own advice, Briefs, do better,_ she scolded herself.

"It's just…" the King hesitantly said, eyes casting down with guilt and anxiety." Going right into his territory…even with Officers Mosto and Tyber, what if he…?"

"Perhaps," Mosto began, bringing attention to himself from his silent watchful post at the door of the King's office. "Frieza should come into our territory. He would not be surrounded by all of his soldiers."

Bulma's jaw dropped both at how simple and how _insane_ that solution was—tell Frieza to come to HQ! Of course!

Tell Frieza to come to HQ? Oh _no_.

"I…oh, dear…" the King stammered, looking between Bulma, Mosto, and Tyber who stayed silent in the far corner of the room.

"It's a good idea, he can't take a huge entourage with him," she said to the men, tamping down the nervous excited feeling of a whole _new_ plan coming together.

"And we can dictate who he brings as well," Tyber finally added. "Not his right-hand men or the Ginyu Force, but perhaps the Saiyans when they return, since the request does involve them."

The King took a deep breath, attempted to compose himself under the watchful eye of his officers. "Very well," he nodded, "I will invite Frieza to HQ."

Though Bulma was happy with _something_ moving along as it should, nervousness still gripped her stomach as she left the King's room with Mosto and Tyber. She hoped the King wouldn't go into one of his infamously prolonged naps in response to the exhausting stress of talking to Frieza, she had never met someone who coped by _sleeping_ before but the Patrol had certainly expanded her view of the universe. "Do you think he'll be okay?" she asked her mentors when they had put some distance between themselves and the door. "The King."

"I cannot be sure," Mosto replied, closing his eyes for a moment to concentrate. "You are aware of the sorts of things they discuss, Frieza terrifies His Majesty."

"And he's not subtle in his desire to recruit you for his own ends," the quiet Saiyan spoke again for the first time since the meeting. "Now I suppose what we need to be concerned with is _when_ this will happen."

"Not to mention Frieza planting bugs here to spy on us," Bulma muttered to herself, prompting a laugh from the two. "What?!"

"You're overestimating his prudence," Mosto laughed, shaking his head. "He still keeps the Saiyans around when it's clear they want him to die."

"Well." She pursed her lips, considering, weighing her own instincts to prevent subterfuge on a protected compound like with Capsule Corp. against the logic that Frieza had no reason to try such a thing. "I guess…"

It wouldn't do to dwell on could-bes, Mosto told her, and she agreed there was no place for speculation of the kind when there were more important things to take care of. Not to mention the important things that were taking place beyond the scope of her mentors' knowledge, though she felt terrible for the deceit she was enacting on them.

 _You probably can't hear me right now, Vegeta,_ she thought. _Or maybe you're ignoring me like some weird macho loner. But this is how I'm getting you all to Earth, okay? Frieza is going to grant you that leave with his own stupid slimy mouth, and if he doesn't—well—there won't be any trouble from this. But why wouldn't he, right? It's a genius plan, isn't it?_

He probably would have responded back that her inflated ego blinded her as usual; a small smile came to her face at the thought. _Stupid woman_ , he would call her. _Stupid man_ , she would reply. _I just needed time to think about if I really wanted to do it…you already knew, didn't you? So it shouldn't be such a big shock._ Vegeta did appear to have more of an insight into her thoughts than she gave him credit for. At least, her thoughts in the planning sense, her emotions seemed to fly over his head rather impressively considering his ridiculous hair.

 _I shouldn't be thinking about him, I've got other things to do._ Bulma told herself that, but even as she went back to work in the tech wing something nagged at her about what he had been up to in her absence. Something _especially_ nagged at her as a completely _idiotic_ thing Vegeta did that would prompt her to smack him across the face if she had witnessed it.

"No, don't do that, dear," Kadab said out of nowhere, their back turned to her at their station. "He would enjoy that."

Bulma grimaced, simultaneously annoyed at her thoughts being read _still_ and acknowledging that Kadab was _right_. Vegeta always seemed more amused to very eager when she made any overtures towards hitting him—not that she _had_ since the kerfuffle on Anaceo. Typical Saiyan ruining things with his almost perverted love of violence.

Ew. She didn't just think of Saiyans getting off on violence, did she? She didn't want to think about Saiyan sexuality _at all_ , aside from the times Bulma wondered how the Saiyans lived being so _boring_ and only caring about fighting above all else. On the other hand, ironically she felt safer around the violent lugheads since they at no point made sexual comments towards her or touched inappropriately.

How the hell did _that_ happen? Even when allowing Vegeta to explore touching, he didn't go over boundaries unless she gave permission (and he likely _wouldn't_ push that far without being shown that it was even a thing).

Thankfully Kadab made no comment there, allowing Bulma to work in peace and ponder over what the future would hold with Frieza, should she send instructions to her father to get started on a more advanced gravity room for Vegeta? She should, then go back and help, it could take a _while_ for the Saiyans to finish their mission since it was over in a whole other galaxy.

"Are you missing him already?" Kadab asked, finally looking over their shoulder at her.

"No," Bulma huffed, adjusting the parameters of the machine she was working on and not even offering a returning glance to the smaller alien. "We're friends, not attached at the hip."

Or codependent, though Vegeta's inexperience with having someone give an actual damn about him had the _potential_ for that she supposed. Still, they weren't giggly teenagers in their first relationship for god's sake; they had their own shit to do without mooning over one another.

"Oh, I see," they mused. "I don't know very much about primate type aliens, humans and Saiyans are the only kind I've seen in a while."

They were asking out of genuine curiosity and not teasing her? Now that was something new. Not that Bulma enjoyed being talked about like she was some _animal in the wild_ to observe and collect data on. "What about your species? Like your mom and dad?" she asked abruptly, turning the subject back onto them. Kadab was the only one left as far as any of them knew, they could very well have been lonely with no other types of their kind though Bulma knew very little about them. They never spoke about their parents or family—was it possible they had some hard feelings attached to their memories? "…Unless you don't wanna talk about it?" Bulma added cautiously.

"We reproduced via magic," they answered with no hint of being upset by the question. "I was the oldest of three; my brothers Barad and Bara were…" They trailed off then, a pensive silence coming over the room. "A monster destroyed my people, a monster brought into existence by a _fool_ among us."

"Not Frieza?" Bulma interjected, tilting her head, truly fascinated at the information.

They giggled creakily, shaking their head at her with all the affection of an easygoing grandparent. "No, no, even Frieza would cower at the sight of that monster."

She wanted to press more, but stopped herself upon remembering the mention of Kadab's lost brothers. Bulma was curious, but she wasn't callous enough to rub salt in the wounds about loss no matter how long ago it happened. She decided to change gears and ask the little creature about something more _current_. "Hey, Kadab…? What do you know about the tree Turles has been using?" Mosto didn't tell her very much when she asked, typical of the reserved Namekian, though it was possible too that _he_ didn't know as much.

"The tree of the gods, the divine essence tree," Kadab responded, turning back to their workbench, now shifting around their tools slowly as if in deep consideration. "It was never meant to be held by mortals…I can't be certain how that Saiyan discovered the tree."

"Okay, yeah, yeah, it's divine," Bulma sighed, rolling her eyes. "I got that part, but what makes it so _divine_?"

They could blabber about _divinity_ and the gods all day, but things wouldn't get done just _talking_ about the gods.

"Oh for heaven's sake," they shook their head at her, "You're so impatient, dear! Listen well, I will only say this once: the divine essence tree bears fruit that is eaten by the gods, under the right conditions gods are _born_ from the fruit itself—but it is very rare."

"All right…" She mulled over the information, typing it down as she listened. "Fruit for the gods, fruit that _makes_ the gods sometimes—" Leaving aside that Bulma's belief in the validity of gods was tenuous at best. "—So _why_ the fruit?"

"The fruit contains divine energy, it can increase the power of mortals some fifteen times over, but…there's a steep price for that power." Kadab looked down at their tiny clawed hands in silent contemplation. "Very few mortals could ever properly harness the power of divine energy, especially if they do not have righteous hearts."

"Oh, _please_. Are we on this pure heart crap again?" she groaned with a dismissive gesture. "You know nobody's ever defined that morality shit clearly."

They _laughed_ rather than scolding her or going on about how Bulma shouldn't be so selfish and irreverent, "Gods alive, Bulma! No, you have a point—it does seem rather arbitrary, especially seeing as the gods are generally indifferent to our doings!"

"Yeah, right? So whatever, this tree grants power, what's the steep price?"

"You have seen it," they said, growing somber suddenly. "To grow the tree costs the life energy of a whole planet."

…Yet, that wasn't all. There was something _else_ , another price to pay for divine energy and the power within. Whatever it was, Kadab either didn't know or wasn't going to share what it was—for what reason? Did they think there was a possibility Bulma would want to eat the fruit herself?

 _Pffft_. Not at all. "All right then, I'm going to destroy that tree."

They looked _surprised_ by her declaration. "My goodness, young lady! That could be considered defiance of the gods, could it not?"

"If they've got a problem with it, then they can try and stop me or—better—get up off their _asses_ and handle Turles themselves," Bulma snorted, already typing down notes for enacting her plan. "Oooohhh—I bet I could get some advice from Mom about getting the right kind of weed killer for this thing." Upon seeing Kadab blinking at her in confusion, she explained: "My mom has a degree in botany."

"I…see."

Apparently Kadab would have to meet her parents someday, perhaps she could arrange that. Either way, now Bulma would definitely add contacting her parents to the list in order to get them in on future plans!

 

* * *

  

"What did Turles _say_ when you encountered him?" Vegeta asked on the third day of their mission. It had been the first actual sentence he had said throughout their assignment to _either_ of them and the suddenness of it made Raditz forget for a moment what the prince sounded like.

He straightened up from his position around the fire they had made, fumbling a little with the bowl of stew he had in his hands as he watched Vegeta warily in return. "He only recognized me and mentioned my father, it wasn't anything significant," he answered honestly, knowing there would likely next be a question of _what_ was so unsettling about Turles. Like the last time he was asked, Raditz would still not be able to answer such a thing, only that something was _wrong_ about the older Saiyan—his skin the color of a drowned corpse, his voice the insidious sound of _danger_ , his avaricious eyes roaming constantly looking to see what next would he possess….

It was just wrong. _He_ was wrong.

"Yeah, he recognized me, too," Nappa supplied after swallowing his sushi roll. "And he acted like he knew Tyber, but called 'im by the wrong name."

"What name?" Vegeta pressed, tilting his head to the side slightly in a rare show of interest.

"You wouldn't know it, Vegeta," the bald man insisted, gesturing with his chopsticks. "Even I barely know who he was talkin' about—some guy named Rogi."

Some "guy" that brought a reaction of panic and fear to the injured Patroller's expression then, Raditz remembered, like a beaten animal remembering its abusive master. Perhaps a commanding officer? As far as any of them knew, Tyber wasn't sent off for conquest as a child but stayed on the planet until leaving. Not that he was inclined to share with the younger Saiyans about his background and anything he had told Nappa never slipped past the elder's lips.

Vegeta didn't respond, leading to a tense silence to fall over the camp while they finished their meals. The subject seemed to have dropped until he brought it up again, "Isn't it obvious? Rogi is Tyber's father, why is there even a question on the matter?"

 _Why_ did it matter _who_ Rogi was?

"Don't say that to Tyber's face," Nappa said. "I think he'd beat the crap out of you—remember? He says Mugo is his father."

( _Think_ was putting it strongly, since his last show of wrath the Patroller had grown quiet and rarely spoke to Vegeta, Nappa's assumption was only that—an assumption. Nobody tried to fight Vegeta if they wanted to live, period, no matter how much he pissed them off. )

Raditz thought of the broad Heran man then, some couple of inches taller than his Saiyan "son", teal skin, unruly orange hair starting to gain silver streaks in it, long beard in a braid down his chest, eyes crinkled with smiles of the past and wrinkles of age. He really looked nothing like the father of a Saiyan would, yet when Nappa asserted no, that man _was_ his father Raditz automatically nodded in agreement. He didn't know _why_ he agreed with it, it simply felt _right_.

"That weakling can't even bruise me," Vegeta snorted, "And I couldn't care less about his delusions of being anything _but_ a Saiyan."

True, a Saiyan that claimed _aliens_ to be his parents, his brother, or _any_ kind of family sounded like denial of his own heritage. He so clearly looked out of place next to them, though their demeanor spoke a sense of _belonging_ reserved for the makeshift family.

"…He's never said that he _wasn't_ a Saiyan," Raditz piped up, unsure of why he felt the need to add _anything_ to the topic or defend the man. "Just that the Herans raised him, so they're his family."

So they were. And it didn't offend him as much as it _should_ have that a Saiyan would denounce their biological family; quite frankly Raditz couldn't _blame_ anybody for doing that, though he would never deny who his family was he acknowledged that he was lucky in the draw. He didn't mind the Herans at all, if he thought about it, they were nice to him. They were nice to Vegeta as well though the prince seemed to become more and more pissed off the _nicer_ someone was to him.

" _Family_ is a pathetic fabrication," Vegeta scoffed, proving once again that his only joy was in stomping all over the happiness of others (and that he was a gigantic hypocrite when Raditz thought of Tarble).

The Saiyans lapsed into silence a second time; it was Nappa who broke it again: "I didn't know Rogi, okay? He was a lot older than me, a mid-class Saiyan. He ran his own squadron and he had kind of a fixation on perfecting the incubation process."

"A scientist?" Vegeta prompted, to which he shook his head. "Then what connection did he have to that?"

"He made a _ton_ of brats through it," Nappa answered. "If there's one way of making sure a process is perfect, it's repeatin' it." He set aside his platter, brushing his hands down the sides of his legs. "Anyway, Turles wouldn't have known him either; he heard rumors and made the connection 'cause of Tyber's looks, I guess."

"But why _are_ there even rumors in the first place?" Raditz asked. "A mid-class that couldn't stop making brats? So what?"

What did it matter? Being productive in _that_ way was hardly the show of strength that Saiyans usually valued, and if it was all Nappa could think of in regards to who "Rogi" was then he wasn't all that significant after all. He imagined Bulma would have loved analyzing the motivations and process behind attempting to perfect incubation, but none of them were brilliant scientists like she was and had no interest in the subject.

Vegeta's scouter going off interrupted any further discussion, his hand jerked automatically before correcting himself and carefully picking up the scouter to answer, "Yes?"

Raditz and Nappa dutifully pulled up their own scouters to hear what message was being relayed to their superior.

 _"Gentlemen,"_ the unnerving calm tone of Frieza came through. _"I hope you're doing well."_

"Lord Frieza," they collectively murmured in response. They shared looks of bewilderment between each other at why _Frieza_ was contacting them personally.

_"I won't mince words: I'm ordering your immediate return so you can accompany me to Galactic Patrol Headquarters."_

The alarmed exchanges of looks between the Saiyans was punctuated by a chortle from Frieza like he could _see_ them right then. _"I know, gentlemen, it must come as a shock to you—we were invited personally by the Galactic King, it would be rude to decline, now wouldn't it?"_ Before anybody could say a thing in response, he continued: _"And I don't think I have to say outright that there are dire consequences for embarrassing me in front of the King, do I?"_

"Not at all, Lord Frieza," Vegeta said in a level tone. "We'll report back as soon as possible."

They had finished the purging the first day, honestly, but the Saiyans preferred to linger and enjoy their freedom as long as they could when it came to deciding between missions and being anywhere near Frieza. The trio immediately began to shift around, putting their supplies back into the capsules and extinguishing the fire after the call ended, a heavy silence had fallen once again.

"She's making her move," the prince said out of nowhere.

Raditz nodded, having done as Bulma asked and _kept his big mouth shut_ about her plan to meet with Frieza.

Nappa was totally lost and glaring at the two of them. "Kids, you mind letting me in on whatever the hell this is?"

"I don't know _how_ she's going to manage it, but Bulma is going to ask permission to 'borrow' us from Frieza, so we can go to Earth," Raditz answered, gesturing off somewhere vaguely with his hands.

"Oh-ho~" A grin split over the old man's face. " _Really_?"

"It's under the pretense of hunting Turles," Vegeta announced. "Her argument will be, and it's not _wrong_ exactly, that Turles would be more likely to approach any one of us."

"How did you know that?" Raditz couldn't help but ask, tilting his head to him as they started off for their pods again.

"She's had that plan forming for a while," he shrugged, "She can't _hide_ those things from me and doesn't bother trying anymore."

"Huh, then why did she tell _me_ to be quiet about it?"

"Because doubtless you would have screamed nonsense and completely misrepresented what she was intending."

Was that a _joke_? It might have been, since Vegeta was smirking ever so slightly while Nappa laughed in short, deep barks. "Clever girl," the old man shook his head, the smile still plastered on his face.

Though it was a direct insult, Raditz couldn't deny that he had a point, he tended to run his mouth when in a frenzied emotional state. It didn't matter, either way, they would concentrate on returning to the base to meet with Frieza then accompany him to the HQ.

"Hey, Vegeta?" Raditz found himself opening up a communication line to Vegeta's pod.

 _"What do you want?"_ his brusque tone came buzzing back.

"Why don't you share those food cups?"

The pliant cups Vegeta would fill with boiling water and eat noodles from, he meant, the grouchy prince was very possessive of the foodstuffs not sharing despite any wheedling or offers of a trade.

It was an odd question, he could acknowledge that, it wasn't as though it was _usual_ for a Saiyan to share their food especially not when food was a little more difficult than it should have been to come by. He wasn't certain why it struck him as significant enough to ask after.

Apparently Vegeta was in a cooperative mood, or closer to dozing off from the suspended animation program than previously thought, as he answered after a moment: _"The woman made that for me."_

A simple reply, though it didn't make very much sense to Raditz—what in the universe did _that_ mean? Bulma made the cups for him? She couldn't have possibly, he had witnessed her cooking (she wasn't _terrible_ at it) and she had made some excellent inventions in her lab, but inventing foodstuffs wasn't something in her job description as far as he knew. Vegeta wasn't saying anything else and Raditz was beginning to doze off himself, already forgetting why he had questioned Vegeta's favored food becoming noodles in a cup of all things.

 _Remember,_ his last waking thought was, _When you see them you don't know them. None of us do._

 

* * *

 

 

"Now remember, gentlemen," Frieza droned as the doors to the elevator opened, "You're not to speak unless I permit it, and _no_ wandering off whatsoever. This is a rare privilege for anybody that isn't part of the Patrol." His mobile throne hovered forward ahead of the three Saiyans, pausing as the tyrant apparently caught sight of something, his tail flicking in interest. "Oh? Now what do we have here?"

Raditz looked up over the form of Frieza, in the direction he was staring in—it was fortunate he couldn't be seen by the lizard at that moment as his eyes widened and mouth dropped open.

The three of them would have expected Bulma to greet them at the initial meeting, but instead of her there stood an Octo being with a ridiculous crown atop his head. At his left side stood a male Patroller suited up in dark purple armor, hands folded behind his back and placed in a suitably military posture—the shock of short, black hair and the piercing black eyes watching them as they approached identified the man as a Saiyan unmistakably. At the Octo's right stood a Namekian, suited in the default white armor of Patrollers, black bodysuit cut off at the sleeves (for reasons Raditz didn't understand), his posture similar to the Saiyan's. It took a moment of reminding himself that, yes, he _did_ know them and it was all right to acknowledge that since Frieza wasn't looking—it was Tyber and Mosto, doing a remarkable impression of looking at absolute strangers themselves. When they drew closer, the King—as that was who the Octo happened to be—swept into a respectful bow to Frieza, the Patrollers bowed deeply at the waist, all speaking greetings of "Lord Frieza."

"My, my, Kato," Frieza chuckled, canting his head towards the officers. "This is quite a surprise; you were hiding a Saiyan from me this entire time?"

It seemed the officers were on order to not speak unless directly addressed too since they remained silent, a perceptible shiver went through the King at the mention of his name before he nodded nervously. "Not intentionally, Lord Frieza! Err…" He scrambled to try to find some explanation, casting his glance to Tyber _pleading_ with his expression for a rescue from the awkward conversation.

"Lord Frieza," Tyber spoke in a clear voice, lowering his head in a show of humility again. "Officer Tyber. What is your command?"

 _Ugh_ , Raditz grimaced, still thankful Frieza couldn't see his face, he glanced over at Vegeta and Nappa who appeared more composed than he felt even in the face of such subservience.

Frieza _laughed_ that arrogant note he took on when genuinely amused by something, "Incredible, Kato! You stumbled upon one that's _well-trained_. At ease, soldier, we're all friends here, aren't we?" He turned his attention to Mosto as the King spluttered platitudes that _of course_ they were. " _And_ a Namekian? Another surprise, I thought they didn't care for fighting."

"Aha…well, Officer Mosto is not like most Namekians, I would venture to say," the King waved it off with one of his appendages, gesturing to the large doors ahead of them. "Come now, there's much we need to discuss!"

Much? It wouldn't be _much_ , Raditz knew, just asking Frieza's permission for putting them in the "care" of the Patrol. It bothered him more that _Bulma_ wasn't present since it was her idea in the first place. _I don't know them, I don't know them,_ he repeated those thoughts to himself to prevent any hint of familiarity coming through.

"Nappa," Frieza clipped as they strode (floated, in his case) down the hallway. "You don't recognize Officer Tyber? Was he not in the army back on your planet?"

"No, Lord Frieza," Nappa responded. "I never knew anybody by that name."

The old man had taken up acting himself, Raditz thought of him helping Tyber's oldest brat to rehearse her lines with a small smirk. Evidently the practice paid off.

"I was sent off for conquest at birth, Lord Frieza," Tyber said without pausing in his pace forward. "I was born weak and sickly; the solution was either to toughen me up by sending me to a weaker planet or having me picked off by the inhabitants there."

"That was a common tactic for weaker ones," Nappa confirmed the story with a nod. It wasn't _entirely_ a lie.

"Ha! Saiyans…" the lizard snickered, tutting something about barbarians (as if his species wasn't equally cruel).

He only stopped laughing when the office opened up, revealing another person waiting for them there.

 _There you are,_ Raditz thought as he looked at Bulma calmly standing at the King's desk. _Let's get this over with,_ he said to her with a quirk of an expression, almost a smile. Bulma's minute nod in return showed the message was received loud and clear.

"Lord Frieza," she said in a falsely cheerful professional tone, bowing at the waist and yet keeping her eyes on him like the defiant woman they all knew her to be. "Thank you for sparing us your valuable time and honoring us with your presence."

 

* * *

 

 

It was no challenge to put Frieza into the comfortable role of being fawned over by those subservient to him; his ego was more susceptible to being stroked than Vegeta's—who remained stone-faced and staring straight ahead at nothing. Raditz was the only one to acknowledge her with a quick smile before resetting his expression to a similar look of stoicism. Nappa was, surprisingly, the picture of professionalism in the killer for hire sense.

"Officer Bulma," Frieza purred, clearly thrilled to see her. "The pleasure is all mine, rest assured."

Ugh. At least he didn't take her hand and kiss it; Bulma probably wouldn't have been able to keep herself from vomiting if _that_ happened. She nonetheless pushed those thoughts aside and moved to let the King through so he could sit behind his desk; she herself fell into formation with Tyber and Mosto to face Frieza and his men. It struck her for a moment as an odd mirror before she pushed _that_ aside, too—she wasn't a poet or some literary expert, for god's sake, that's what Tights was for.

She pulled herself back to the present, expression changing to one of business while she regarded the visitors. "We made contact with Turles recently; my tracking terminal cornered him at Anaceo."

Frieza hummed in consideration, staying perfectly still in his mobile throne, not even drumming his fingers in consideration.

"He had no interest in us," Bulma lied, twisting the actual events around as easily as a paperclip. "But our Saiyan comrade here…" she trailed off, eyes turning to Tyber whose stoic presence offered a comforting grounding to the room.

"He took me for someone else," Tyber explained, his eyes watching Frieza carefully, unblinking as always. "However, we realized his attention was caught by another Saiyan."

"I informed Officer Bulma that you have offered your assistance," the King added.

"Therefore, I want to take on your Saiyans for the purpose of luring Turles," the killing blow (metaphorically speaking) was dealt; Bulma straightened herself up, waiting for the response.

She had gone over the scenario and what _might_ result from it several times in her mind, while she expected Frieza finding _amusement_ in one scenario, she didn't expect him to begin _cackling_ , raising his hand to his mouth in that regal gesture. "Do you _hear_ that, gentlemen?" he threw over his shoulder at the Saiyans. "You're being asked to assist the Patrol!"

The Saiyans made no comment then, Frieza continued: "Kato, you realize how violent Saiyans are? There might be nothing _left_ if you allow them to handle this!"

"That's fine," Bulma interjected, becoming annoyed at being ignored. "I'll provide the means to get at Turles, if they end up killing him that's for the better, isn't it?"

The tyrant's sadistic sneer did nothing to reassure her that things would go as smoothly as she envisioned with the plan. "Simply brutal, my dear, you're magnificent." He almost seemed to be looking right through her soul, noticing (though she hoped it wasn't the case) and _relishing_ in her shiver of discomfort. "But tell me, is it prudent to keep the Saiyans around here?"

"They would not be," Mosto finally spoke. "We have a base separate from HQ where we will dedicate resources to the tracking."

"My my…and to be sure they behave themselves?"

For the first time that day, Vegeta looked ready to speak, a look of irritation writ large all over him. Bulma, fearing the consequences of violating the order to stay quiet from Frieza, spoke quickly: "Lord Frieza, you have them submit reports, don't you?" At his nod, she smiled. "Besides, Officer Tyber would tell you himself I'm very good at keeping men in line."

Tyber offered no confirmation, though Vegeta _did_ give her an irritable look from behind Frieza's back.

"You're a treasure, my dear," the abominable lizard cooed. "Men? Your thoughts on the arrangement?"

(He said that as if they would have a choice to disobey one of his orders?!)

"Turles is a deserter," Nappa grumbled. "I'm content with having a shot at him."

"If there's _really_ no objection to us killing him, then I accept the terms," Vegeta's baritone sounded out of place after his prolonged silence. He said nothing after that, doing a marvelous impression of someone who had no interest or investment in what was going on around him.

"Two against one. Any objections, Raditz?" Frieza teased the long-haired Saiyan, who only shook his head numbly in reply.

Bulma pushed aside any sympathetic thoughts towards Raditz essentially being bullied right in front of her, reminding herself she needed to be charming and placid around Frieza.

"Well then," he said, turning his head back to the Patrollers, "Kato, you've outdone yourself. I'm amazed your subjects would come up with such an intrepid plan."

The King's mouth twitched at "subjects" though he forced a smile at Frieza nonetheless, Bulma surmised that he would have been visibly sweating then if his anatomy allowed for it. "My officers," the King lightly pressed on the word—they were not subjects, soldiers, or slaves to him—as he spoke, "Are the elite of the elite, my lord. Does that mean you are granting your permission?"

The self-titled emperor chortled, giving a careless shrug. "I'm amenable to it; the idea of them being someone else's problem for a little while amuses me."

That was too easy, Bulma thought, and was proven correct when Frieza's eyes focused sharply on the King with a venomous smile.

"But, Kato, they _are_ valuable workers. I will require something in compensation."

The temperature in the room dropped several degrees, all eyes turned to Frieza, Bulma saw Vegeta's fingers tighten against his arms; the King trembled as he watched Frieza in paralyzed anticipation, prey caught in the gaze of a predator. "Any…anything you want, Lord Frieza…" he stumbled over his words, wringing his appendages together.

"Ah, well," Frieza shrugged, "I know you've got your hands full with the current case. I will call in the favor another time, don't worry, I'm a very patient person and you _haven't_ disappointed me yet."

He _shouldn't_ be disappointed, Bulma mentally grumbled, her work on modifying the stupid scouters was _revolutionary_ and she was _very charitable_ in giving over her goddamned work to him!

 _He might want more than your work next,_ her thoughts cautioned.

She wanted to counter her own thoughts with an absurd "of course he would I'm desirable and brilliant" statement just to blow it off, but she would not. Bulma instead packed any thoughts regarding that into a box labeled "things I don't want to acknowledge" and set it aside. She had other things to concentrate on right then, like bidding farewell to Frieza and setting up the base Tyber had volunteered for travel to Earth. Not without some fixing up and maintaining from Bulma, of course, though it took some time to be sure it was ready (and to capsulize it for convenience).

The ship itself was a sight to behold, a large cruiser made from the same alloy that mimicked the appearance of wood as it did in all the buildings and ships originating from Vanishing Point. It reminded Bulma of a gigantic pirate ship, of course it would be since it was a Heran creation. The return to Vanishing Point was quiet; no words were exchanged between Patrollers or Saiyans alike. Though Bulma was immediately reminded of how _forceful_ the latter could be when Vegeta pulled her aside and forced her into the room she had been staying in, slamming the door shut behind them. The last thing she saw was Tyber going to follow after them in concern and Nappa holding him back.

She could hardly blame him for being concerned at such an alarming image, especially with how _livid_ Vegeta seemed as he pushed her against the wall, shaking, breathing harshly, _glaring_ at her. "Are you _insane?!_ " he hissed, his breath hot as flames against her face. "Do you have _no_ sense of self-preservation?! _Goddammit_ , woman!"

"Calm the hell down, Vegeta!" she protested, pushing against his chest to give herself some leeway, finding that in the meantime his tail had found itself around her waist as usual to pull him against her. "It _worked_ , didn't it? And Frieza calling in his 'favor' won't matter when you're strong enough to kill him," she added the last bit in a quieter voice so nobody outside would hear it—nothing could be done about Vegeta's loud obnoxious voice, of course. "We _need_ to do this, any way possible it needs to be done."

"Why do you _insist_ on vexing me, woman?" his voice had fallen to a low growl now, still breathing harshly but anger seeming to pass albeit slowly.

"I don't, you're just too easy to vex," Bulma retorted, carefully sliding her hands up his chest to cup his face—the touch was more experimental than deliberate, to see if it would help put him back in a more reasonable state. "It's going to work, Vegeta, you're going to get stronger and become a Super Saiyan. Forget about Frieza, okay?"

"And Turles?" His hold had relaxed, hands falling to his sides.

Encouraged by his shifting demeanor, she gave him a small smile, releasing him to gesture at the door. "I'm still going after him, we all are. If you want to get involved with that, I'm not going to stop you."

He groaned, rubbing his temples. "For fuck's sake, Bulma, _must_ you be so reckless?"

"You're scolding _me_ about being reckless?" she giggled, moving herself to the side to come out from his enclosing grasp. "Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were _worried_ , Prince Vegeta!"

Vegeta's tail remained as stubborn and relentless as its owner, the iron grip pulling her back against him. If she didn't know any better as well, something would be very suspect about how _needy_ the thing was, but naturally chalked it up to his lack of experience with closeness. "You are _exasperating_ , insolent, careless—I rue the day that we met," he rumbled still in that uncharacteristically soft tone.

"You decided to play the game, Vegeta, it's not _my_ fault you can't take the challenge!" Bulma teased, pushing insistently against him. "Come on, we've got to get the trip started."

After a breath, his tail released her and Vegeta stood back, though he had a strange look in his eyes as he watched Bulma. "…Fine," he said, turning sharply and leaving the room, abandoning Bulma to her perplexed thoughts about what in the galaxy just happened.

 _That could have gone worse_.

 

* * *

 

A vessel like the Heran ship shouldn't exist; it shouldn't have been possible for such a thing to exist. The thing was massive, about the same size as one of Frieza's standard battleships—perhaps larger, but the aesthetic didn't _match_ standard spaceships. The cruiser reminded Nappa of old files on civilizations that relied on travel by sea, a vast but archaic-seeming ship made with the same alloy that mimicked the appearance of wood as the Heran household. They were certainly dedicated to keeping the old culture alive despite no oceans to speak of among the stars, he thought. He could respect that sort of devotion to tradition.

But the Herans were not on his mind as he sat with Tyber in the room with the data terminal, having pulled him aside for a personal talk whilst Kua and Mugo worked on takeoff and setting the coordinates to Earth. Utoma, bless her adorable round little face, was busy with preparing lunch as she insisted she needed to cook _on_ the ship rather than relying on packed supplies, claiming that it would be just like when she and her husband were young and sailing with the newly christened ship. The Heran couple were simply _nauseating_ in how sweet they were on each other still, Tyber and Kua looked appropriately embarrassed by their parents, Broly and Tarble only pointedly looked away pretending it wasn't happening. Typical teenager shit.

"Say something," Tyber said after another moment of distracting thoughts and staring at each other. "I hate awkward silences."

Nappa hated awkward silences, too, especially when engaged in a staring contest with a man who _rarely_ (if ever) blinked and had sharp, sharp eyes—too sharp, much too sharp even for a Saiyan—

 _"I recognize those eyes,"_ Turles' voice echoed in his head. Probably haunted Tyber's nightmares, at that.

It just didn't make any sense. Turles, though formidable as a fighter, shouldn't _know_ Tyber—period. While Nappa was an elite class, as the general (and with the population in its prime only barely breaking the thousands) he knew everyone.  Tyber had already gone off planet by the time Turles would have been under Nappa's command, Turles had been sent on conquest before Tyber was even _born_.

_"Rogi, wasn't it?"_

It couldn't have been. Nappa knew the name, as he told Vegeta when asked, and he was honest in what he _did_ know—the man was much older, a mid-class warrior with an interest in the breeding programs. He didn't just _make_ a load of whelps for fun, he sought to train them all and create the perfect _heir_ from them as well as running a brutal and unforgiving leadership among a group of other mid-class Saiyans. Just a lot of crap that elites didn't involve themselves with—who really cared about what a bunch of mid-class Saiyans were doing, right?

Tyber expressed fear at the name. Vegeta snidely expressed that of course it was _obvious_ Rogi had fathered the man sitting before Nappa. He knew that the prince had to be right, but something just didn't—

Vegeta and Raditz barging into the room startled Nappa out of the thoughts; Tyber only cast his gaze to the younger Saiyans seeming unruffled by the intrusion. Nappa didn't invite them, he assumed Vegeta became impatient and barged in to show he took priority over heart to hearts between drinking buddies. Raditz was likely dragged along against what he really wanted.

"It's buggin' me," Nappa finally said as the two went about their own investigation of the room. "Turles, that is."

"I don't see why you're fussing so much," Vegeta snorted, "It's _not_ as though he's different from us, I've told you." He paused, lip curling in distaste at Tyber. "Well, all of us except a certain coward among us, anyway."

"No," Nappa said firmly, shoulders becoming rigid at the thought of their last encounter. "Destroyin' shit, drinking, being a general sadistic bastard, yeah, that's _not_ different from us. _He's_ what's different, there's something _wrong_ about him."

Tyber didn't bother defending himself against Vegeta, all told Nappa figured he thought the description of coward was accurate, but he also said nothing else awaiting the point of the conversation.

"There was," Raditz agreed, arms crossed with a stiffness that spoke trying to conceal shudders. He was affected the worst, they all knew, though none of them would speak it aloud for the sake of his dignity. Regardless, being scrutinized by what looked like a reanimated corpse of your _father_ was bound to fuck anyone up, Saiyan or not. "There was just…something wrong…"

"…Who is Rogi, Tyber?"

If they kept delaying with talk about nonsense, nothing would get done, and getting shit _done_ was what Nappa was about.

He did feel odd pangs of sympathy at the look of _despair_ that crossed Tyber's expression, though Vegeta and Raditz appeared perplexed. "I thought we established that he's obviously the coward's father," Vegeta grumbled. "What more needs to be said?"

A laugh cut in at the tail end of Vegeta's statement, startling the other Saiyans and drawing their attention to the Patroller, who was shaking his head and _grinning_. "Rogi is a _ghost_ ," he said, expression fading back into the neutral watchfulness of before. "You can call him my _father_ if you wish, he _did_ sire me, but to me he is only an arrogant fool that thought more of himself than he really was. A sadistic and violent fucker that was hated by everyone who had the misfortune to know him."

_"You're much smaller than rumored, and younger, aren't you?"_

Nappa breathed deep, trying to come to terms with the insanity going on around them. "He wanted to make the perfect heir, that's why he was obsessed with working on the incubation program. There was talk that eventually it could be refined to make kids _tailored_ to a parent's liking, but it never came to be."

"More than that," Tyber mumbled, closing his eyes and evening out his breathing himself. "More than that, Rogi sought to make the perfect heir that was _stronger_ than him, the one who would bear his family name."

"But why?" Raditz queried, tilting his head to the side. "Why did he want one _stronger_ than him? It doesn't make a whole lot of sense."

"No, it doesn't," he admitted. "A lot of things that man did made no sense." He stood, going to the data terminal to turn it on, the screen casting a bluish light over the room and the inhabitants therein. "I'm not going to mince words, he was under the impression that he was descended from the _first_ Saiyan to ascend."

"What?!" Vegeta stood up from his seat, going to Tyber's side to grab him by the shoulder and turn him around. "What do you mean by that?!"

"Isn't it what I just said?" the Patroller scoffed, brushing off Vegeta's grip. "He wasn't the only one that ever claimed that, he just ended up being the most prolific."

The image of a male Saiyan that looked _very_ familiar came up on the screen then, face hidden underneath a tangled black beard, scars across the skin that was visible, the eyes…

_"I recognize those eyes."_

Nappa recognized those eyes, too. Unmistakable, the man had to be Rogi, Tyber's sire—they looked identical to one another barring the excess of hair on the older Saiyan as well as the look of cruelty on his visage. "Hey," he spoke up, standing to put a hand on Tyber's shoulder. "You don't have to talk about this if you don't want to."

"Nappa, don't _coddle_ him," Vegeta said with disgust. "He's a _Saiyan_ , some sob story isn't going to hurt anything."

"He's right. There's nothing special about what happened to me, or any different from every last one of us godsforsaken Saiyans." Tyber shrugged, keying something into the data terminal to bring up a file. "Rogi pushed me just the same as he did my siblings, eventually he had to push me harder once he realized there was something wrong with his precious heir." He looked up at Nappa with a faint smile. "Isn't that typical? He finally got the heir he wanted and the thing turned out _sentimental_."

"That was you," Raditz said, looking awed with the revelation.

 _It wasn't obvious?_ Nappa thought, shaking his head at the younger Saiyan. "But then what happened?"

"Mm…" A folder titled _cloning_ came up on the screen. "They found his remains after I was born, the first Super Saiyan's. Frozen in some ruins."

Nappa opened his mouth to say that wasn't what he _asked_ but Vegeta pushing them both away from the terminal to scroll through the files himself interrupted any further questioning.

The words blurred by too fast for Nappa to catch onto as Vegeta read, eyes flicking back and forth frantically, expression growing slowly more aghast. "They tried _cloning_ him?!" the prince burst, tail bristling.

"I told you, I wasn't the first attempt at recreating the first Saiyan to ascend, whether it be his bloodline or _himself_ ," Tyber said with annoyance. "Nor was Rogi the only Saiyan to claim he was descended from that Saiyan. The cloning was more of a disastrous program, since the DNA sequences would be hardly complete in a body that was frozen in an iceberg, now wouldn't it? There had to be donors to fill in the gaps."

Vegeta stood there, his entire frame trembling either with rage or horror nobody in the room could be certain. "Why would…why would my father participate in such a thing?" he stammered, his voice uncharacteristically quiet.

It didn't seem something the King would do at all, Nappa agreed. He understood the studying of cloning, he understood trying to perfect the incubation to not only keep the population stable but to be certain the _best_ Saiyans were made, he didn't understand trying to clone the first Super Saiyan. Why?

"He didn't." Tyber pushed Vegeta's hands away from the keyboard, directing their attention to the last file in the cloning folder. "He didn't agree with the idea at all, especially not when you were born, Vegeta—you were the strongest Saiyan child to be born in centuries, even out of those other incubated children and cloning attempts."

"Attempts," Vegeta echoed. "Attempts…they failed?"

"They failed," he confirmed. "They died before even properly incubating. Of course your father grew frustrated and impatient with the waste of resources." He paused, looking over at the prince. "Rest assured, you don't have any siblings besides Tarble out there, living or dead, via cloning."

"I didn't think I did!" Vegeta snapped defensively.

He certainly did, and Nappa wouldn't lie _he_ was starting to come to that conclusion himself much to his horror. The relief that it _wasn't_ the case was tangible.

"…Tyber?" Raditz spoke up when the silence had dragged on for too long. "What's that?" He pointed to the file that was opened on the screen.

"Paragus was an advisor to the King," Tyber responded, "Nappa you probably remember him."

"Yeah, kinda shifty, I remember."

"Whether or not he really _was_ shifty, he was insistent that the cloning program could really work—and if it did, the Saiyans would never be toppled. This was partly motivated by rumblings against Frieza, who was unaware of the cloning program himself." He gave a sardonic smile then. "He probably figured monkeys wouldn't know how to type, let alone create clones."

(It was an ironic comment, of course, seeing as for all intents and purposes Frieza commandeered a load of Saiyan technology for his own use.)

Nappa crossed his arms, leaning against the wall and staring at the file now. The words almost blurred together on the bright screen, though he could make out a couple: _viable_ , _perished upon leaving the tube_. "What's this?"

He shouldn't have asked, he really shouldn't have asked, all he wanted to know was who the hell Rogi was and what significance he had in Tyber's life or why Turles would know him. He didn't sign up for all the conspiracy shit about _cloning_ and claims of being descended from the first Super Saiyan. It turned out Rogi _didn't_ have as much of an influence as he had figured; he never even got the story of how Tyber got _away_ from Rogi. He noted to himself to ask again next time they had the chance to drink, perhaps he just didn't want to talk about it around Vegeta and Raditz.

"Paragus created _one_ clone that stayed viable within the tube, but it—he perished upon being extracted. The child was dumped out with the rest of the garbage, where he ended up on a landfill planet."

"He," Vegeta repeated.

"He," the rest of the Saiyans echoed, all eyes turning to Tyber.

"Father—Mugo, he told me that you find a lot of things in the garbage," Tyber said. "Sometimes you find a baby with a faint heartbeat. Sometimes you end up trying to heal something half-dead on the spot. Sometimes you end up having to nurse that baby back to health. Sometimes you have to access a couple of files that you're not supposed to in order to find out that baby's name since he didn't come with a pod. Sometimes you have to lie to your little brother about where his _new_ little brother Broly came from."

" _Broly_." Vegeta stood straight up, staring at Tyber. "So _that's_ why! That's why!"

"Does—does he know?" Nappa stuttered, gaping in a very undignified fashion at Tyber, who shook his head.

"I'm…I'm going to tell him on his eighteenth birthday," he admitted in a weak voice. "That's when Tarble will learn, too. It's…it's only fair that they both learn the truth at the same time."

Vegeta had seemed to disengage from the topic at hand entirely, pacing back and forth with a manic expression on his face. "It's why he's as _strong_ as I am despite having little formal training! It's why he holds himself back so much! And he doesn't even _know_!"

"Vegeta! Calm down!" Nappa cautioned the prince, who only turned a cocky grin back to him.

"I _am_ calm," he said looking absolutely _not_ calm by any stretch. "I'm _ecstatic_." He stopped, turning a glance to Tyber. "I don't want to hear any complaints from you about our training."

"I don't want you blabbering to him about what you've learned here," Tyber replied levelly. "I can't stop you from training with him, and Broly clearly enjoys it so I wouldn't regardless."

Vegeta nodded before taking his leave, abandoning the remaining three to stare between each other for a long moment.

"Uh, so…" Raditz fumbled into saying something. "That was fucked up, was it just me?"

"Yeah," Tyber agreed. "I think we all need a break." He looked over to Nappa, gesturing to the door with one hand and turning off the data terminal with another. "We've got a stocked bar here, wanna go see what Kua can mix up for us?"

"Hell _yes_ ," Nappa sighed, shoulders slumping, shaking his head.

That was what he got for trying to be a supportive friend, wasn't it? Raditz declined to join them for drinking, instead going to check on the progress of lunch, leaving the older Saiyans alone.

"…Tyber."

"Hmm?"

"Do you like, feel better? Or something?" he managed, vaguely wobbling his hands. "Getting all this shit off your chest?"

He had to have been keeping it secret for a long time, a whole burden weighing him down with no inclination to sit down and _talk_ about it aside from with his wife most likely. The Herans were used to living in secrecy on Vanishing Point, but Saiyans were much more _social_ as a species than other aliens would first assume.

Tyber gave him a small smile, that same look of gratitude he had shown him the year they first met. "Yes, thanks. I'm glad you're my friend."

"Aw, ya fuckin' sap!" Nappa chuckled, slapping his hand onto the Patroller's shoulders. "When did that _friend_ thing happen, huh?"

"Who knows?"

Who knew, indeed? It was an unusual arrangement. An unusual relationship. Very unusual for Saiyans, no matter which generation they came from.

Cloning…he still couldn't believe that there was _cloning_ going on back on the planet. They could all acknowledge that the Saiyans had done a lot of things, some of which they were probably answering for in the afterlife, but…how many more things did Nappa not know? That he _should_ have known? Wasn't _he_ the man closest to the King…?

 

* * *

 

 _I already know, you don't have to tell me,_ Bulma communicated to Vegeta the moment he stepped foot into her designated workshop. Broly and Tarble were sat next to her, avidly watching the machine she was tinkering with. Vegeta paused, scowling, insisting to himself that he _wasn't_ going to tell her a thing and contemplating just what he was going to do after taking the time to work off the frenzied energy that came upon him from the _news_.

She was hiding it, the melancholy air that had come over her from the knowledge, not just of the origins of the boy sitting next to her with an expression of un-Saiyan-like innocence, everything else that had been talked about. She didn't need to, he asserted, so what? Sad stories were the rule of the universe, there was no need to dwell on them.

Tarble looked up first, smiling at Vegeta and greeting him. Broly jumped to his feet and respectfully bowed, muttering salutations of "teacher."

He was polite for someone that was apparently, of all things, a clone; Vegeta was surprised to find he didn't resent Broly as much as he likely would have a couple of years ago upon learning where he came from. So what if he was a clone of the first Saiyan to ascend? It wouldn't matter, Vegeta was stronger and _he_ would be the one to ascend first—if Broly did after, fine, whatever, Vegeta would still be stronger.

"Broly, let's go check with Mum to see if she needs help," Tarble not so subtly whispered to Broly, taking his adoptive brother by the arm and standing to lead him out of the room.

 _Little shit_ , Vegeta thought, frowning and glaring daggers at his _sweet little brother_ as they left.

An awkward silence came over the room.

"Come sit with me," Bulma glanced back at him, gesturing to a chair.

And curse her, as usual, he _did_ sit with her. His posture was stiff, however, inexplicably feeling uncomfortable being so close to Bulma again.

She had _no clue_ how close he had been to just kissing the hell out of her back before they embarked on the journey to Earth. He was honestly _infuriated_ at her reckless flirtations with the danger of being near Frieza, but at the same time her insane courage was so…so…appealing.

It was getting worse, the impulse, he was becoming more and more curious about what it felt like and if she would _allow_ him to do that.

_"It's not a big deal, I've had dreams about stuff like that too. And more."_

"You're giving off weird vibes," she commented, looking over from the corner of her eyes. "Is this about Broly or are you still mad at me about the meeting with Frieza?"

"What _about_ Broly?" Vegeta grunted, not entirely sure what Broly would have to do with his mood. "I don't care that the boy is a clone or _who_ he was cloned from, chances are he barely has any of the first Super Saiyan's _actual_ DNA in him."

Bulma shook her head, easygoing demeanor lulling him into a strangely relaxed frame of mind. "Okay, so it's Frieza?"

Frieza wasn't even _trying_ to be subtle about his intentions, which did anger Vegeta of course, but they were far away from Frieza at that point. It wasn't Frieza.

"It's you," he stated frankly.

" _Me_?" Bulma repeated, an offended expression coming to her face. "Look, buddy, I'm working my ass off for you, got it?"

She was, he could acknowledge that, another thing that bothered him about her—she was so _caring_ and _helpful_ to everybody, even people who didn't deserve it. And despite being aware of her kindness being offered to _most_ , it still made him feel special to have that kind of attention.

He really _was_ some hormonal teenage boy, wasn't he? How pathetic.

"Speaking of that, I got a progress report from my dad on the gravity room we're making for you on Earth," she blew off the irritation she had a moment before by turning the monitor to show him the blueprint file. "This one's going to be even better than your ship, and easier to maintain since it'll be its own thing."

He didn't respond, only watched her point out all the features that would be installed in the new room, her eyes sparkling in excitement, cheeks flushed, and just _talking_. It was a lot to take in, not just the changes happening and the news about what went on behind closed doors back on the planet, but what the future held. What would it bring? How far would he go, and would Bulma be along with him?

"Sure I will," she said out of nowhere, turning to face him again. "You're stuck with me, your highness."

"Am I?" Vegeta mused, only half-realizing their noses were touching, fully realizing that it didn't _bother_ him as much as bodily closeness usually would. It was fine with Bulma, Bulma wasn't a threat, she was _security_ as insane as that sounded.

Just a year ago, he had still been intent on killing her. Just a year ago, she had been mentally preparing herself for a great struggle for survival against him. Neither of them realized when it changed, when the tenuous truce turned into a friendship and partnership taking on the universe itself.

"That's acceptable, I suppose."

Bulma snorted, pulling away from him to go back to her work. "I hope you're prepared to meet my mom, she's…something else."

"The one that said you're on the market?" Vegeta blurted out, prompting a sputter from Bulma. "Tell her you're not for sale! I don't understand why that's so difficult to convey."

It was a straightforward enough statement, he thought, there was no need for Bulma to bang her head on the desk like she did in response. Earth women were simply unfathomable.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all you folks that are still around, you've probably heard about the nonsense on Tumblr. I still have mine [here](https://mozarteffect.tumblr.com/) for updates and such since I don't post nipples of any gender. But now there's also [twitter](https://twitter.com/MozartEffectAo3) and [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/mozarteffect) in case you for some reason want to witness me being annoying elsewhere


	19. Set in Motion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our ship of fools finally reach Earth, but something more than what they expected has been lying in wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mozart how does the Fortuneteller Baba saga fit into this.
> 
> Shhhhh.
> 
> Happens off-screen. When nobody's looking.
> 
> Also I did another drawing for this update since this is a shorter one, it's a silly draw the squad meme though and you've already seen it if you've been staring at my twitter like the trainwreck that it is. Since it has Launch in it, Blue version is at the beginning of the chapter and Blonde version is at the end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**~~Year 752~~ **

**Year 753**

Bulma was the kind of person who made incredible achievements on a rainy day, or a day when she felt there was nothing better to do and wanted to occupy her time; if asked, she would say she made incredible achievements _every_ day. On the second day of the trip to Earth, feeling restless and wanting to start a _new_ project, she came upon files in Tarble's data tablet that showed illustrations of what appeared to be an old style of armor for Saiyans.

"What, that?" Nappa said when she showed him wanting an explanation. "It's the armor that was worn on Sadala."

Sadala was the name of the origin planet for Saiyans, from her understanding territory squabbles and a power struggle or two made it uninhabitable, leading the Saiyans to leaving for greener pastures so to speak. Planet Vegeta was a conquest from another species, renamed for the second King in the line who—shockingly—wasn't Vegeta's _father_ but his grandfather. Turned out Vegeta was the _fourth_ in the line, to which of course she rolled her eyes at how ridiculous royals were with their ego-centric naming schemes.

The armor looked similar to what Vegeta called an older style of armor in the Frieza Force, when she thought about it. Something compelled her to make a copy of the file and edit over it to see if she could make a more unique armor design for a certain grouchy prince.

"Hey, Vegeta," she called to him as he drank his usual almost literal gallon of water post training (how he avoided water poisoning, she didn't know, she wasn't a medical doctor). "Come take a look at this and tell me what you think."

He shot her a look of annoyance before tossing aside the bottle and coming over to her. "What _is_ it?" he asked, perceptibly squinting at the tablet. "Are you still on about armor?"

"You seriously don't get bored wearing the same style of armor all the time?" she shot back, adjusting a line to the figure with her pen. Her thought was to remove the hip guards in exchange for making the armor overall sturdier and remove the shoulder guards to streamline the design. "I want to make armor that's like the armor Saiyans wore on Sadala! Isn't that worth looking into?"

Vegeta didn't answer, leaning _too far_ into her space as he examined the drawing. Okay, yeesh, she thought—did he _have_ to do that when he was parading all sweaty and shirtless? At the same time, Bulma knew if she made her annoyance or embarrassment evident he'd make fun of her, so she stood her ground.  

"For what purpose, exactly?" he eventually questioned, expression changing to a look of contemplation—which meant he _was_ thinking of agreeing to be helpful in the matter, a good sign.

"Stronger armor, for one," Bulma explained, adding some color to the image to see how it looked. "I know it doesn't have a cape like from when you were a kid, but I still think it looks pretty regal."

The pause between them was heavy as she realized she _shouldn't_ know about the royal armor style, she had only seen that in her dreams, and the slow turn of Vegeta's head towards her showed that _he_ was thinking the same thing.

"I don't need a cape," was all he said, tone aggravatingly unreadable (annoyed? Embarrassed? Regretful? _Dammit, Vegeta!)_ "That was ornamental, anyway, you wouldn't wear a cape into battle unless you wanted to get it snagged on something."

"…Hey, yeah, that's a good point."

"It's more of a point than whatever you're doing right now."

"Shut up, asshole!" she snapped, setting the tablet down with a sharp _click_ to the table, then picking it up again to flounce out of the room. "Leave me alone! I don't need your help after all!"

"I won't wear a design I don't approve of," he called to her back mockingly.

"You're going to approve of it _so much_!" Bulma screeched back, slamming the door to her room.

Whether or not he would approve of it wouldn't make a difference to her anyway, Bulma still busied herself with creating that armor and a myriad of other projects that kept her attention. As if it was any surprise, after a while he began to nag at her about neglecting various so-called duties (eating, training, sleeping, etcetera).

"He's starting to sound like Tyber," Zurui commented on the fifth day as she looked over the blueprints with Bulma. Though she was a blacksmith by trade and not a scientist, the older woman still understood _crafting_ and _thank god_ she understood what Bulma had taken to calling _Saiyan Bullshit._ "I wonder if it's a Saiyan thing after all to fuss over people they like."

" _Like_ is being generous," Bulma huffed, blowing some hair out of her face—it was getting too long, she would need to cut it soon. She wasn't certain if it was Vegeta's nagging rubbing off on her, but she had started to consider disadvantages of having long hair should she get into a fight abruptly (with no option to avoid it); someone could grab it, ki attacks could singe it, too many possibilities. "Vegeta doesn't like things, he tolerates things."

It was mortifying enough that he had somehow learned about the phrase "on the market" and took it to mean there was some bizarre trade of human women for consumption, a conversation about _liking_ versus tolerating was hardly necessary.

(Not to mention it would be enough of a headache introducing him to her _parents_.)

"By the by, how were you going to test the strength of this armor?" Zurui asked after a moment, _thankfully_ appearing to want to drop the subject before it could get anywhere annoying. (Bulma so rarely got to talk to women nowadays; she didn't want to spend that time talking about _men_.)

"Oh, I was gonna try it on and have you lob ki blasts at me," Bulma responded bluntly.

To her credit, the Heran didn't protest or say something like _but I don't want to hurt you!_ "Makes sense, though wouldn't you rather Vegeta test the armor and Broly shoot?"

"Bold of you to assume I want the ship shaken apart."

"Good point." She sighed, shaking her head. "It's just a prototype, after all, you can do more strenuous testing on Earth—I _think_ Broly isn't on planet busting level yet."

Planet-busting was a fun term other aliens used to refer to warriors that were strong enough to destroy planets. It sounded _cute_ despite the fact that it really, really wasn't cute. Bulma only smiled nervously as she considered the implications behind all of what was said. "Yeah…making armor impervious to planet-busting attacks would probably sacrifice some flexibility."

For the most part the prototype seemed to work out fine when the two tested it, although it attracted some unwanted attention in the form of Broly who mistakenly assumed it was a fight in progress and pried them apart.

 _Bless his heart_ , Bulma thought with no intention of blessing Broly's well-meaning but naïve heart. "At least he didn't tattle to Vegeta," she muttered to Zurui who was checking over the damage sustained on the armor.

"No, but it _is_ cute to hear him call our favorite prince 'teacher'—ah, how do your ribs feel?"

All comments aside of Vegeta certainly not being _her_ favorite prince, Bulma pulled up her shirt to examine the bloom of bruises that had gathered around her chest. Injuries while doing experiments and testing equipment plagued Bulma more than anybody realized, usually she hid them much better than pulling up her shirt in front of another person to openly check them. It didn't matter, they knew, they both were women and Zurui similarly participated in strenuous work that led to injuries. "I think they're just bruised, which—yeah—need to work on that, but no cracks and nothing some tonic won't fix."

"Here, I'll go get that right now—" Zurui stood to leave.

Time seemed to slow down as the door opened again before she even reached her hand out to the handle.

Bulma's head turned, catching sight of Vegeta coming in with some demanding bark of _oi Bulma it's time for dinne—_

Everyone froze; the women focused on the man, the man unsure of where to focus _himself_ judging by the confused flicker and the flush coming over his cheeks.

"Out!" Zurui snapped first, pushing Vegeta hard enough to send him flying before slamming the door. "Shirt," she said then, gesturing to Bulma who meekly covered herself up again. "Dinner," she grunted, taking her leave of the room.

"Right…dinner…" Bulma mumbled, already hearing the scolding raining down on Vegeta for _don't you know how to knock_ and _it's rude to stare_ followed by insistence that he _wasn't staring at all_.

_Oh god he was staring._

* * *

 

 

_No I wasn't, no I wasn't—you damned woman it's not like it's any different from the skimpy clothes you usually parade around in!_

It _wasn't_.

But it was, he _was_ staring, it took all of his willpower to _not_ put his hands in his face at the memory as the coward's woman lectured him. As if it wasn't humiliating enough that he was _shoved_ like some filthy animal, he was now being lectured in front of nearly half the occupants of the ship—though at least most of them looked too frightened by the Heran woman's rage to be smug that it was him receiving it. "I told you!" he insisted. "I wasn't staring!"

" _Sure_ , as if I'd believe that!" she snarled, hands on her hips, bearing down on him with the height advantage she had.

"Oi, oi, come on Z," Kua called from the table as he was setting down the first load of food. "Leave 'im alone, s'time for dinner."

While he would never lower himself to being grateful for being defended by a man who _never wore a goddamned shirt_ Vegeta breathed an inner sigh of relief nonetheless when the madwoman stormed off saying that she needed to get some healing tonic for Bulma.

Despite it being a bad idea to try going back into the room again, the fact that Bulma needed _healing_ caught his attention. Too late to _ask_ why she needed it (not that he wanted to talk that woman after all the screaming anyway) he found himself going to the door and opening it. "Bulma?"

Thank the gods that don't exist, she pulled her shirt back down, though the look she was giving him wasn't embarrassment but irritation. "Don't you have anything better to do, Vegeta?"

"Figured you would want to come eat," he retorted. "What's this about you needing tonic?"

"I was testing the armor and got banged up, that's all."

A flare of anger overcame Vegeta then, hands tightening into fists, tail bristling. "I thought," he said, tone quiet but furious. "I told you not to hurt yourself again."

"Technically it wasn't me," she responded flippantly, rolling her chair back against her desk. "Zurui was the one firing the shots—and how else was I supposed to test the armor's sturdiness, huh?"

"Test it on _me_ , you infuriating idiot!"

"You were busy! And besides, Zurui _isn't_ strong enough to do damage on you!"

 _Damage_. She wanted _damage_ done to her! On purpose! But he _told her not to do that_.

 _"You can't control her_ ," that Launch woman had said. Bulma would not be told what to do, and dammit her logic _made sense_ in the case for why she was right to test it on herself instead of calling for him. He would have been irritated at having his training interrupted, probably would have refused, leading back to the same conclusion—her, overworked, hurt, _tired_.

He fucking hated that she was right, that she was so smart she already _knew_ what was going to happen and went forward with it anyway. He wasn't sure if it was brave or stupid, maybe both?

"Hey, tough guy," Bulma's calm voice cut into his thoughts, she had reached up and cupped his face in that baffling gesture of affection. "Come back here with me, okay? It's fine, I'm fine. "

Vegeta sighed harshly, pulling her hands away from him, uncomfortable with the contact at such a time; she understood and stepped away, smiling, not minding a bit though she really _should_ have. After a moment, however, she winced and clutched at her chest, bringing a frown to Vegeta's face. "Get yourself treated. Troublesome woman," he scoffed, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

"It'll just be a second, Prince Charming," Zurui breezed by with a snide comment as he passed.

He only growled in reply, stomping to the table and sitting down to grab some food.

"Oi, ya kiss her yet, Geets?" Kua asked.

"I don't even know what that is," Vegeta lied. Lied like he didn't know, like he didn't think about it, like he wasn't still trying to push out the image of her shirt pulled up to reveal—reveal—

( _Undergarments?!_ Royal blue—lacy—)

Nappa and Raditz looked at each other quickly, knowing the lie but not daring to call him to the floor on lying in front of anybody else.

"Saiyans don't do that?" the Heran man bought the lie with a surprised expression.

"Generally speaking, physical contact tended to be more violent between Saiyans," Tarble (for once) backed Vegeta up in his blatant lying. Whether it was out of genuine agreement that, yes, Saiyans back on the planet _didn't_ kiss or something else didn't matter as long as they got off the topic quickly.

Oddly, Tyber chimed in as well, "You don't remember, Kua? I thought it was an attempt at cannibalizing the first time it happened to me."

That was certainly an image that would live in Vegeta's head now; though he would admit (privately) that he had thought likewise the first time he witnessed the act of kissing. It didn't make sense to him then during the Ginyu Incident (much as he loathed thinking of that awful happening) and it still didn't make sense to him even into adulthood despite being _afflicted_ with thoughts of it around Bulma.

Kua chuckled at the apparent childhood memory, shaking his head. "Cripes, you Saiyans are boring as hell—no offense Tabby, Brols, T, Pappy, Sparky."

Good thing that man was a decent cook or else Vegeta would have broken all of his limbs at that point. Let alone hearing the stomach-turning nickname of _Tabby_ for his brother—whether or not Tarble was banished, he was still a _royal_! Such disrespect!

( _Royal blue undergarments._ )

"Kissing ain't all that great anyhow," Nappa huffed. "It's nowhere near the fun part."

"Shut up, Nappa," Vegeta grunted, hiding his flustered expression by digging into his food with gusto.

* * *

 

 

"Big sis, people don't look like us on Earth, do they?" Nori bluntly asked Bulma on the end of the sixth day.

Bulma, lulled into a trance of Utoma's hands running gently through her hair as she cut the tresses into a bob, started at the question. She blinked, working her mouth a couple of times to try and answer the boy. The Herans, though they appeared for all intents and purposes human, still had alien traits which _was_ an issue—and though the half Saiyan/Heran children were adorable and unique, Earth didn't like unique. At least not unique in an unconventional way; just because Bulma loved her alien friends didn't mean most Earthlings would love them in the same way they loved cute quirkiness. "They don't, no," she answered. "Earthlings don't have blue skin and pointy ears. But you guys can change that."

"Uncle Mosto can't," Nori pointed out, his tail waving back and forth.

"I cannot, that much is true," Mosto conceded from his position of meditation in the corner of the room. "Fortunately, Bulma's mother has a lovely garden I can hide in," he canted his head to Bulma with a humorous smile, "All I require is sunshine and water, after all."

"Dear, you're sure it wouldn't be a bother?" Utoma looked around to make eye contact with Bulma. "Of course Tyber and Mosto need to be with you to keep an eye on the boys, but all of us?"

 _The boys_ , Bulma had to hide her smirk at the idea of the Saiyans being called _the boys_ as if they were a troublesome trio of schoolboys as opposed to murderous aliens. "It's not, I promise. Mom and Dad will love having the company." It's either that, or allow them to throw all those rapidly tiring parties, she thought but did not say, carding her fingers through her own hair to test how it felt with the new 'do.

Bulma Briefs loved social gatherings, she loved to dance and talk to people, she loved to dress up and look like the best damn thing to ever happen to humanity; she didn't love the rich elite assholes that ended up on the invitation of those gatherings. It might have been more tolerable if she had her friends along for the ride, but none of them could stop the inevitable lousy attempts at flirting from young bachelors of West City.

Besides, clocking the creeps in the face under her own power was more satisfying.

They didn't need to hear any of that. Tyber was pulling up images of how typical Earthlings looked on his data tablet anyway to pull them away from the potential topic.

"Do we _gotta_ wear our tails around our waists on Earth?" Celrey complained over her fifth bowl of oatmeal.

"Sorry, kiddo, Earthlings don't have tails," Bulma sighed with an amused smile. "Well, some Earthlings do, but they look more like animals than human-type Earthlings. You could always just not leave the house, I guess, but I guarantee you my mom is going to want to take you to the amusement park and all kinds of fun places for kids."

"Consider it training, Celrey," Tyber stated, turning the tablet around to show the rest of the crew. "We're on an alien planet, interacting with the natives, trying to pass like them. It's like being undercover."

Nappa guffawed, slapping his knee, " _Undercover_ , does that make us cops, too? Hey—hey, do I get a badge?"

"I don't have a _badge_ , Nappa," he responded with some exasperation. "And no, you are not official Galactic Patrol—n-never mind, ugh. Let's just—"

Move on, prepare for landing and docking.

Mentally prepare for the oncoming changes.

"Raditz?" Bulma leaned back to look over at him. "I'll find Goku if I have to drag that little guy out of the woods like the first time I found him. Think you can handle staying with us until then?"

"You're saying that like Kakarot has a place for me to stay himself and we're just gonna have a whole brotherly love hut," Raditz joked, shaking his head. "It's fine. It's _weird_ , the idea of living around other people again, but I can live with it."

 _He could live with it_ , god Saiyans were weird. But at least Raditz was becoming more relaxed with the jokes.

* * *

 

 

It had been months since learning that Tarble lived still and since Vegeta barged back into his life. Months where neither of them spoke a word of anything serious or ever truly with each other barring the pendant that they would no longer discuss and Tarble becoming angry with Vegeta's…childish behavior. That would not stand; they _needed_ to speak with each other about things besides…all of that. Why it bothered Vegeta so he didn't understand, he didn't understand why he _needed_ to recapture some of the normalcy they _used_ to have as children. He didn't understand why he pursued it even though it was sure to explode in his face and rip open the wounds long since not healed but accepted as a constant pain to ignore.

Nonetheless, he didn't speak, and Tarble spoke first after a long silence of drinking tea: "I was wrong."  When Vegeta didn't answer the statement, he continued:  "You weren't being childish."

"Oh?" Vegeta kept his attention on the boiling water he had been preparing for the curiously pleasant-smelling "oatmeal."

"First, you're not as spoiled on initial judgment, you can actually cook for yourself."

And _there_ it was, Tarble being a little shit. Vegeta scowled, glaring at him from over his shoulder. "I'm capable of caring for my dietary needs," he said, pushing aside all his memories of the difficult learning curve in caring for his nutrition. "And I was being cowardly, you don't have to say it."

Rather, he didn't _want_ to hear Tarble say it, though he knew that he was being cowardly in his avoidance of confronting whatever it was that was changing in him.

"You're oddly at ease with labeling yourself a coward."

The younger prince sounded…what? Angry? Disappointed? He wouldn't admit that it stung comparing the memories of the Tarble who admired his older brother and followed him without question to the man he had become. He had grown, he had learned, he had changed all without Vegeta. He had done so with people that he called his family though they _weren't_. Despite that….

Vegeta had hoped (though he would never tell anyone he was foolish enough to _hope_ anything) being spared from living a life under Frieza would leave Tarble untouched by pain and anger. As usual for the joke that was their lives, that hope was in vain, though he hadn't been forced to kill and destroy as Vegeta had the suffering resonated too deeply to be avoided.

He wouldn't deny it, he wouldn't make excuses for himself, he was the older one in between them and he _needed_ to show Tarble he still remembered his role.

"It is what it is, what sort of fool would I be to deny my—" Vegeta paused, waiting, trying to put a word or two to how things had been. Even looking over at his ever-watchful sibling brought no description that summed up the turmoil stewing inside of his head (his _soul_ though he didn't believe he had one). "It's a lot, Tarble. Within a year, I encountered several things I never thought to be in my future. The opportunities, people…"

Feelings associated with people, he wanted to say. He wanted to tell his long-thought deceased brother how part of him remained fearful of waking up one day and finding all of what was discovered and given just _gone_. Tarble would truly be dead, the woman who had unconditionally fit herself into his life as a friend would be a stranger, and the advances made in his training would be _nothing_.

Vegeta would have tried harder to figure out how to word the apparent root of his cowardice, perhaps (not at all), if Tarble's sudden aghast expression didn't distract him. "What?"

" _Brother_!" Tarble yelled, pointing at something below Vegeta's eye level.

He realized then his hand felt wet, he looked to where Tarble directed—oh.

He was pouring the water over his hand instead of into the oatmeal mix.

"Feh," Vegeta scoffed, retrieving a drying cloth to clean the mess and start again. "There's no need to wail, I've had worse."

"Perhaps we shouldn't talk about this right now?" Tarble asked faintly, eyeing the burns on Vegeta's hand with concern.

"No, Tarble, say what you're going to say."

Tarble cringed, eyes remaining on the burns that were certainly not throbbing at that point. "I suppose…all right, I'm sorry for being crass with you before, I'm just…"

Vegeta rolled his eyes—of course, an _apology_ , like Tarble actually _hurt_ him, like he had _feelings_. "Save it, I'm not some soft-hearted weakling; I was only perturbed that I wasn't the one to teach you cursing."

It was a deliberate bait to throw Tarble's attention off of whatever he was going to say, to avoid what was coming. Tarble bypassed it by shaking his head and squaring his shoulders, continuing on: "I want you to be _happy_ , Vegeta."  

And there it was again, that _insistence_ on _happiness_. He wanted to drive off the topic, banish it to the darkest recesses of obscurity, but Tarble was quicker: "I know you want to kill Frieza. I support that, but I don't want you to forsake _anything_ that might make you happy because you're _afraid_ of being weak—or, rather…" He smiled, an expression laced with pain and insincerity, an ice cold lance pierced Vegeta's chest as he willed against the truth of what he was going to say. "You don't want to be like me."

"Tarble!"

That _hurt_. It was _true_ and it _hurt_. Why did it _hurt_ , it _shouldn't_ and he hated that it brought so much pain.

"You don't want to be like the disgraced, banished prince, weak and sentimental—"

" _Stop it!_ " Howling rage lit a fire in him, pushing Vegeta forward to grab the smaller Saiyan by the shoulders to shake him.

Having his hands on any living being meant death, his impulse was to crush and maim, to relish in the look of helpless fear in the victim's eyes. Tarble only looked back at him impassively, maintaining a locked gaze into the elder's eyes, his serenity _out of place_ in reaction to a killer laying hands on him.

_Why?_

"Don't say things like that," Vegeta shocked himself with how low and hoarse his voice had become, almost whispering. "Don't…say things like that."

Didn't he look after Tarble well enough? Even in their short time together. Wasn't he a good enough brother?

"I know I didn't…I wasn't…there for you…and I didn't—didn't try to—"

"Save me?" Tarble interjected with a hollow chuckle, shaking his head, expression turning sorrowful. "To what end, Vegeta? Frieza would have killed all of us for the trouble. I hated having to leave, but I would have hated being an excuse for Frieza to bring you misery all the more. Now—" He placed his hands with a gentle but firm grip on Vegeta's wrists in a clear request to let go.

Vegeta's arms fell limp to his sides, stunned into silence by the baffling composure Tarble continued to show. "Tarble—"

"It's my turn to talk, Brother. You _are_ afraid of being happy, of changing." His expression flickered into something unrecognizable—he looked so much like their mother with that expression, a maelstrom of feelings and memories associated with Vegeta's last moments with the Queen hit him then. "Of being like…me. But, Brother…you _aren't_ like me, and allowing yourself to be happy isn't going to _make_ you like me. It won't make you weak. You shouldn't fear change, Vegeta."

 _"…Becoming comfortable can be dangerous,"_ Bulma's soothing voice reoccurred in his memories. Her reminder of change being necessary, though it was uncomfortable—if (of course he _wouldn't_ ) he looked outside of his own self-centered view for a moment he wondered if the changes were equally uncomfortable for everyone else.

_"Maybe every change won't be easy for you to grasp, but there's time. There's always time."_

There was always time.

"…Tarble, are you afraid?" he asked finally, the soft tone persisting only for the fact that this was _Tarble_ , nobody else would be afforded such softness from Vegeta.

Tears sprang to his eyes, thoroughly alarming Vegeta with the sudden show of emotion, his thin smile persisted as he choked, "Of course I am, Brother. I'm so afraid. I wanted to see you again, I want things to be _different_ so everyone can be happy, but…Frieza…"

"I will _defeat_ him," Vegeta growled. "I will destroy Frieza!"

Then there would be no more hiding, and Vegeta would rule the universe as he was _born_ to do. Tarble would be reinstated as the royal he was supposed to be, but in a lesser position to him—a diplomat would suit nicely. If Tarble wanted it, the Saiyans he called "brothers" and the Herans could live alongside them, Vegeta could easily think of roles for all of them. Perhaps the Patrol would even have a place, as well; he hardly wanted scumbag criminals shitting up the universe if he was to rule over it.

(Bulma could be persuaded to join as head scientist of the tech division, surely.)

The grandiose proclamation and sharing his plan for the future would relieve any concerns and stop the tears.

Strangely, it did not, Tarble only smiled ruefully at him. "You really want that, Vegeta? To fight for your freedom only to give it up again?"

What…?

What did _that_ mean?

Though he outwardly denied it, the thought of how exhausting being the sole ruling monarch over so many people, the responsibilities therein, the expectations all ran through his mind.

"Nonsense," he snorted, now reaching into the pocket of his pants (one of the few alien concepts he actually would praise as being useful, he had no idea why their uniforms didn't incorporate them at all). "When I take my proper place as ruler, I'll be worthy of wearing this again." He presented the pendant made just for him, holding it out to catch the light in emphasis.

Tarble's eyebrows raised, holding his hand to his mouth in surprise as he looked over the pendant, free hand hovering over like he was debating with himself whether to touch and confirm it as real or not. "Where did you…?"

"The old bird on Orui." Vegeta just as quickly pulled the pendant back to shove it into his pocket again. "Some nonsense about it being _needed_ , clearly she predicted that I would ascend to the status of sovereign."

"I see…"

 _"I won't let a **bad guy** be the King!"_ the voice of a young girl echoed in his brain while Tarble pointed out that the long-forgotten water still needed to be prepared, then muttered something about retrieving a salve for Vegeta's burn before leaving.

 _Like I care, brat,_ Vegeta thought. _I'm a bad man, and the strong rule over the weak._

A bad man that couldn't carry a conversation with his brother that didn't become intensely emotional, apparently. The normalcy that he inexplicably craved there would be a struggle to obtain for a little longer, unfortunately.

A rattle and sudden lurch from the ship caused the kettle to flip up, spurting the water directly into his face.

"FUCK!"

"Oh, we're landing, Brother," Tarble casually informed him, peeking back into the room. "Are you okay?"

"I'm _fantastic_ ," he seethed, already powering up his ki to dry himself off.

At least the water wasn't _boiling_ that time.

Still, someone was going to pay for not _warning_ him they were getting ready for landing.

* * *

 

 

"And we've got all of our stuff packed?" Bulma prompted the group around her as they hung in the sky far above West City.

The group mumbled their "yes"es, each giving her their own peculiar look at why she was talking to them like a mother getting the kids ready for a day trip to the amusement park. She wasn't certain why Vegeta had his arm wrapped up, but assumed it was something stupid he had done to himself.

"Disguises all in place?" she asked as though she couldn't see right in front of her that the Herans (plus half Herans that weren't Celrey) had, in fact, already transformed their appearances to match more closely to Earthlings.

"Y'can see that plain as the sun, luv," Kua, now appearing as a human man with dark brown skin, said with a chuckle. Indeed, they had changed their pointed ears to more human rounded ones, each taking on some variant of brown for their chosen shades of skin yet keeping their blue eyes and orange hair. Good enough, of course, odd colored hair or eyes could be explained on Earth, blue skin could not.

Though—"You know you're going to have to wear a shirt if you're going out in public on Earth, Kua," Bulma added.

"Oi!" he burst, offended. "I've gotta what now?!"

"Don't worry," she waved it off, "Our tailor will handle that once he gets your measurements." She directed them to begin their descent to the city, continuing: "And Tyber? Zurui?"

The couple glanced over at her, finding nothing strange about carrying on a conversation as they were flying through the clouds.

"We don't mark each other with tattoos when we get married, especially not on the chest, people would probably think you're gang members if you go around showing those off."

"It's none of their business!" Tyber snapped, level of offense somehow higher than his brother's.

"And I guess Earthlings have a problem with exposed chests, too?" Zurui queried, the picture of poise in comparison to her husband as they touched down. "You have a solution in mind."

"Yeah, generally, exposed bodies are kinda…perverted," Bulma admitted with a light blush.

"If your wife goes around exposing her chest, that sounds more like a problem with you lot than Earthlings," Vegeta chuffed arrogantly to Tyber, who only bared his teeth at him in response.

"Shut up, Vegeta!" she snapped, slapping Vegeta's unbandaged arm (he, of course, smirked at her effort in a condescending manner). "And _yes_ , I do. When Earthlings get married, they exchange gold rings. I'll have some made for all four of you," she gestured to Mugo and Utoma as well as Tyber and Zurui as she spoke.

"No!" Tyber waved his hands insistently.

Ah, she expected the reaction, of course, since Bulma had been subject to their hospitality for so long and the tutelage of the Patrollers for longer the idea of reciprocation never came to mind. They weren't accustomed to her charity or even that she was willing and able to provide for guests.

"Are you sure about that, lass?" Mugo merely asked, tilting his head. "Seems a lot of trouble just for us blending in, surely we won't even stay long enough for it to matter, eh?"

"It matters to her," Mosto interjected, canting his head to Bulma for permission to blindside any nearby citizens to distract from their appearance.

(Psychic abilities sure were handy for Namekians, too bad hers only linked her to an asshole prince.)

The dome of Capsule Corp loomed ahead, though they didn't take much time to behold it before Bulma quickly ushered them through the doors.

"Miss Briefs!" a couple of employees tried to hail her as she pushed past to the living quarters in a rush, pointing out that her friends could pick whatever rooms they wanted, and she would give them a proper tour once they had settled in.

She had rushed too fast, possibly, since she ended up shutting herself into her room, heaving a great sigh and slumping to the floor. The weight of being back on Earth and _everything_ had become too much, she needed a rest. Maybe a nice bubble bath and then a nap.

Apparently the universe had other plans for her as the door against her back begin to push open and the familiar voice of a certain bothersome Saiyan Prince came through, "Oi, Bulma."

Bulma sighed heavily, clambering to her feet to open the door the rest of the way—of course, there was Vegeta staring right back at her. "Yo," she mumbled back faintly, gesturing for him to enter the room.

Without missing a beat, he strode in, crossing the room to the bed where he sat down and looked around. His arrogance hardly shocked her, even if the forward behavior did, she would have expected _herself_ to barge into his room and get cozy on his bed first just to mess with him.

"It's actually clean, I'm amazed," he huffed with a disbelieving smirk. "But since you're back, I'm sure that will change."

"Oh, shut up!" she groaned, moving to sit next to him. "It's none of your business what I do in my own room, haven't you picked yours yet?"

Bulma Briefs had a man in her room and was casually sitting with him _on her bed_.

It didn't bother or embarrass her as much as it _should_ have, she felt at ease with him there.

"I have," Vegeta answered, glancing at her. "It's suitable for now, but I will need further amenities."

"Of _course_ you will," Bulma sighed, rolling her eyes. "What, you want soundproof walls and a loaded defense system like I have?"

That was a new expression from Vegeta, raised eyebrows and a look of total confusion. "Why do you have a defense system installed in your room, and why are your walls soundproofed?"

"Because I'm Bulma fucking Briefs and explosions from experiments, duh."

Wasn't being Bulma Briefs the most obvious answer?

"I don't need any of those."

"Suit yourself." She shrugged, stretching out her arms in front of her, trying not to yawn. "Soooooo…why are you in here, huh? You know it's not appropriate to be in a lady's room on her bed, right?"

"Vulgar woman. Your gender has nothing to do with the topic." He watched her scoot back towards her pillows, intent to rest despite the fact that he was still nonchalantly sat on her bed. "What are you _doing_?"

At least he had the awareness to look put off by the situation.

"I'm tired. I _wanted_ to take a bath, but since you're in here I can't, so I'm just going to take a nap."

It seemed to be left there, she _hoped_ , until she felt the press of Vegeta scooting up next to her.

_What the hell is he doing?!_

"You're going to laze about when you _should_ be showing me to this new gravity room you've been bragging about the whole trip?" His voice was too close to her ear, the heat of his body radiating off him though he wasn't touching her. "Is it really worth wasting my time to—?"

 _All right, that's enough._ Bulma reached back and grabbed his arm, pulling it around to abruptly place the asshole Prince of all Saiyans into a position of holding her against his chest.

She had been through _so_ much the past couple of months, with and without him, as a bystander and as a participant, Bulma had had enough. If he was going to insist on being there _annoying her_ he might as well make himself useful as an extra source of warmth.

Vegeta took it about as well as expected, abruptly turning rigid as if he was frozen in ice, trembling slightly. "What the _hell_ are you doing?!" he snapped, pulling back, though notably his tail had ended up around her waist as usual despite his outrage.

Bulma kept her back to him, only mildly annoyed by the loss of his warmth and the security of being close to someone. "You can either stay and nap with me, or just get the hell out of here. I'm not in a frame of mind to take this shit right now, Vegeta, okay? If you're going to start fights or insult me or make demands, wait until later."

"…And why do I need to be clutching you in such a way to nap?"

His tone had become subdued, almost curious; apparently he was in the mood to learn about closeness despite the awkward start.

"You don't but, it's nice to cuddle," she said, her eyes already drooping shut. "You can just…be close."

"Cuddle," he repeated the term, questioning, not critical which was unusual considering who exactly she was speaking with. "I can just stay here, and…"

There was another question in it, something more embarrassing, Bulma latched onto it and answered for him: "No, we don't have to have sex to just be near each other like this."

That _was_ what he was getting at, wasn't it? Vegeta could pretend he was a superior lifeform above the lesser beings all he liked, but she knew he thought about the topic just as much as any person with a pulse would at some point. His sputtered denials that it was what he meant only confirmed it was exactly what he meant, though rather than stomp off and huff about it like expected Vegeta stubbornly wrapped his arms back around her as she had directed.

"Fine then. Be lazy, but the second you wake up, you're showing me that gravity room."

"And introducing you to my parents, right?" she hummed, pressing herself securely into his embrace. "—Is this okay?" Bulma asked to be sure his boundaries hadn't been crossed and he wasn't verging into overload. Vegeta acted tough, of course, but the idea remained unexplored territory for him, she didn't want to overstep and hurt any amount of trust they had built up.

"I wouldn't be here if it wasn't, woman, go to sleep," he grumbled in exasperation.

It was strange, for the first time in a long while Bulma felt genuinely safe and secure. In part she was away from the alien experience of being in space, but at the same time there was a piece of what she had come to care for with her. Her life on Earth and her life as a space-traveling Patroller didn't have to be mutually exclusive.

It was nice.

It was nice. But strange.  She was being held by a killer, someone who showed no mercy to anyone otherwise, if she visited with a therapist they would probably have a lot to say about the fact that she felt safe doing so.

Her vision faded away into darkness, the sight of the same place where she first met Vegeta and Raditz soon came into existence.

Another dream about the first meeting? Come _on_ , how many more of those would she _have_? The part of her brain that was still conscious of the fact that she was asleep and dreaming was growing very impatient with the repetitive nature of the themes.

 _"Just take it!"_ a bossy voice cut into her hearing, she realized suddenly she was looking at the younger Vegeta again, this time he was in his standard battle armor set but holding out a round talisman towards her. _"Are you hearing me? Just take the pendant, stupid girl!"_

 _"Don't tell me what to do!"_ she heard herself as a child reply back, eyeing the so-called pendant suspiciously—it wasn't her style in the slightest, though it was rather pretty. She was refusing it verbally, but as she continued looking at it something in her prompted the idea of reaching out and taking the pendant as commanded. _"I'm not going to take something if I don't even know what it means or does, who do you think I am?"_

Duh, even as a five year old, why would she be so stupid as to agree to something without knowing the full implications?

 _"It means you'll rule **with** me," _ the little Vegeta said with a petulant scowl. _"We'll rule the whole universe!"_

True, the last time they spoke like this, she observed that it would be boring ruling the whole universe alone. As they were children, they didn't stumble over the larger implications of _ruling together_. However— _"I don't want to rule over anybody or anything. Then I couldn't do what I do with engineering! I wouldn't be able to make things that can change the world because people would be running around trying to do everything **for** me. I want to live in freedom!"_

Being a princess sounded like a nice idea _in theory_ , but her more logical side won over with reminders that really being a royal would be _a huge pain in the ass._

 _"I'll find a way,"_ he said, expression softening as they stood there. _"I'll make sure you're always free, no matter what."_

Bulma reached out then, not taking the outstretched hand holding the pendant, but his free hand. She brought it up, linking their fingers together, smiling at him despite the baffled expression on his face. _"I want to be free **with** you. Can't we do it together?" _

_"But I'm… **supposed** to rule."_

She giggled, pulling the boy to her and pressing a kiss to his cheek.  _"Big dummy, have you ever thought about what you **wanted** to do when Frieza is dead?"_

 _"Wanted…?"_ Vegeta stopped, shook his head as if to cast away the doubts, rubbed at his cheek peevishly as he grumbled. _"Of course, I always do what I want!"_

_"I didn't ask that, I asked when Frieza is dead, dummy."_

_"I…"_ —

The dream abruptly turned black, Bulma experienced nothing more for the duration of her sleep.

* * *

 

 

Bulma's parents were a trip.

At least that was how Nappa reacted, laughing good-naturedly at the antics of Panchy—Bulma's mother—and how goddamned _perky_ she was.

Raditz wasn't sure what to make of her, but much to his relief at least Launch (blonde as the abnormally youthful-seeming woman) was there along with him.

"I checked on B, she's takin' a nap," she explained when she came to retrieve him and the rest of their group.

Vegeta was missing, too, though Raditz wasn't interested in questioning that. Considering Panchy's _handsy_ approach to every damned male in the room and the bizarre commentary on how "handsome" Bulma's friends were (she didn't have a problem with the blue-skinned freaks!? They had relaxed their disguises since they were in the house! She really didn't mind?!) it was probably better her meeting with Vegeta was _delayed._

It wasn't only Launch and the Briefs conducting the tour, some male about Tyber's height had joined them with a carefree attitude that inexplicably annoyed Raditz—not to mention his looks had thrown him off at first. The unruly dark hair and black eyes looked too Saiyan to be ignored, though his scent was clearly the same as every other Earthling. He should have considered the possibility that there would be Earthlings with identical coloring to Saiyans as opposed to every one of them being exotically strange. Launch introduced him as Yamcha, or "the ex" to which Yamcha flushed and tried to laugh it off—to be fair to him that _was_ an awfully awkward thing to bring up, but Launch did what she wanted after all.

"You're Bulma's teacher, right?" he had said to Tyber with an easygoing grin, holding out his hand in that gesture aliens were so fond of called _shaking hands_. "I'm so glad I finally get to meet you! I'm a martial artist myself, we should spar sometime!"

The smile Tyber gave in return as he reached out and took Yamcha's hand was too sharp, had too much showing of teeth; Raditz could see the warning look Mosto gave as the Saiyan _squeezed_ the human's hand almost to the point of breaking. "I would _love_ to, Yamcha," he said in a tight voice.

It was amazing how abruptly Raditz went from being annoyed by someone to feeling sorry for him. To his credit, the man only responded with a laugh and a comment that his grip was pretty sturdy before pulling away.

Unfortunately, Yamcha's attention turned to him then, all cheer and good spirits despite the barely hidden threat. "And you're Goku's brother!"

"Kakarot," Raditz automatically corrected, before shaking his head. "How did you even know that?"

"Hey, dude, relax!" Yamcha throwing his arm around his shoulder was the best way to make Raditz to _be utterly unable to relax._ "I can tell y'know? You look alike!"

"Rrrriiiight," he muttered, subtly moving away from the friendly hold. "Nice to meet you, or something."

He would have to work on the social interaction thing, just so Nappa would stop snickering at his obvious discomfort. Having a crash course in the form of the Briefs family wasn't ideal, but it would have to suffice.

Not just a crash course in the Briefs family, the Briefs _home_ was another complicated thing to figure out. The compound was as large as one of the bases they usually stayed on (though thankfully not as big as some of the nicer ones), it was almost too much to take in all at once—damn near everything they could ever need was there, would they even need to leave? It was fantastic but bewildering, how were they supposed to navigate without getting lost?

"So, how was the trip, Raditz?" Launch finally pulled him aside to speak in private.

Private, he thought, until he realized Dr. Briefs and Nappa were in the room.

"Don't mind me, kids," Dr. Briefs said, raising a mug to them, "Just showing Nappa how the coffee machine works."

He _really_ minded. He especially minded that Nappa was smirking at him and Launch.

"If you wanna make out, you can always go up to the rooms, we won't stop ya," the good doctor added.

 _And there it was!_ He was just as bad as Nappa! The two old men guffawed while Launch rolled her eyes. "Ignore 'im, Raditz, he always says shit like that."

"It's m'job!" he happily added.

Gods, he could see why Bulma went off on her own so much now. The odd black-furred creature (some kind of feline?) that rested around the doctor's shoulders only blinked at them slowly, unmoving otherwise.

"You're a fuckin' riot, Briefs," Nappa chuckled.

"Haha, only Panchy calls me that these days, it's been a while. Isn't that right, Scratch?" He rubbed the feline's ears affectionately as he spoke, the cat sleepily meowed in reply.

They seemed to completely forget the two were even there, though Raditz's attention had inexplicably been seized by the comment. "What do you mean?" he opened his _big stupid mouth_ to ask. "Why would your wife call you by your last name?"

Were Earthlings really so impersonal? It didn't look right considering how Bulma acted.

"Oh, actually, Briefs is my first name," Dr. Briefs laughed. "I'm not native to West City, I used to live out in the countryside before coming here to go to school. When I got my PhD and started up Capsule Corp. some paperwork got fumbled." He shrugged, ignoring that the Saiyans would have no clue what any of those words would mean or just not realizing. "So, there you have it, I ended up being Briefs Briefs via red tape, wasn't really worth the trouble to argue so I just left it."

"Yo, that's a _fascinatin'_ story, Doc." Launch shook her head, touching Raditz's arm to signal that she wanted to lead him away somewhere else. "Anyways, we're gonna go hang out, see you later old timers."

"Have fun making out, _kids_!" Nappa called after them.

"Gods, I hate him sometimes," Raditz growled.

Launch only giggled, "You'd be stuck with Vegeta on your own if you didn't have Nappa, you know it's true."

He sighed, shaking his head, feeling himself calm down as their surroundings became quieter. Where they were heading appeared to be the place where Dr. Briefs kept his menagerie of tame animals. From what Bulma told him, her father had an extremely soft spot for stray or abandoned animals and raised or kept _many_ of them. Anything from dogs, to reptiles, to _dinosaurs_ of all things, Dr. Briefs took them all in with an open heart and equally open space. It was strange to him, the man was powerful and influential, almost on the level of royalty, but he was so…caring, even-tempered, how in the hell did a man like that _survive_? How in the hell did a man like that raise not just one but _two_ daughters that ended up the way they did? He supposed Bulma was compassionate like her father, but her fiery adventurous spirit didn't match with the relaxed altruistic Earthling.

"I would be, yeah," he sat on a bench when Launch gestured to it, tail moving back and forth. "So…how's it been? Keeping up with your training?"

"I've been practicin' with Yamcha!" she excitedly answered, holding out her hands as if it would show him her progress physically. "I still can't really get the hang o' ki, though…maybe I just ain't cut out for that."

"You don't need to use ki to form energy blasts or anything, it has other uses," he encouraged her, "Even if you can't form it to fly or anything it doesn't mean you can't be a good fighter."

It would probably be better in that case if Yamcha continued teaching her; he didn't seem to be able to use ki attacks besides something called a "kamehawa" or whatever. There would also be less risk of Launch getting seriously hurt in a session, much like how Bulma had started training with Tarble for the very same reason.

"A fighter, I dunno about that but havin' something extra to defend myself with is good." She moved closer to him, leaning into his space. "Anyways, it's been good 'round here. Yamcha has been kinda tense lately, though, he keeps sayin' he's got a feeling like we're bein' watched."

"Hmmm?" Raditz's mouth twisted as he considered it, Yamcha didn't _seem_ to be a paranoid kind of person, and the way Launch spoke about it made it sound like it was unusual for him to be tense. A flock of birds flew overhead as Raditz watched. "Well, have you noticed anything unusual?"

"Ehhh, it's prolly paparazzi," she sighed with a shrug. "It might get worse now that Bulma's back, those vultures are always tryin' to catch Bulma on their cameras."

Paparazzi, he didn't understand. Cameras, he understood, it implied surveillance, and it implied people following and harassing Bulma. "Why don't you just destroy them?"

"Uh, Radz," Launch squinted at him, "You can't just go around killin' people because they bug you in the city. Trust me, I _get it_ , but y'can't."

"Well, that's annoying, what if they do something nasty to Bulma?"

"Awwww, you're worried about her!" she cooed, poking him the ribs, her grin only widening when Raditz pushed her hand away. "But anyways, that's what lawyers are for, an' B—she's good at handlin' herself, even before she learned to blow up shit by pointing her finger."

He had no reason to disbelieve her, considering Bulma, though he had no idea what _lawyers_ were. "You said she was asleep?"

"Yeah, but," Launch looked around to be sure nobody was there, and then leaned up to his ear, "Vegeta was there in bed with her."

 _Oh gods he didn't want to know that!_  "He was _what_."

_Why did he ASK?!_

"I mean, they were both wearin' their clothes, far as I could tell—so I'm pretty sure they didn't do the horizontal tango," Launch hastened to clarify.

( _The what?_ He wanted to ask before realizing it was some euphemism.)

"But I wasn't expectin' ta see 'im? Guy doesn't strike me as a cuddly type."

"He's _not_." Raditz only vaguely had an idea of what _cuddly_ meant but whatever it was it sounded nothing like Vegeta at all. "But with Bulma, I guess? He said something weird to me before we left on our last mission." Though he still didn't know what it was about, he tried his best to summarize that weird moment when Vegeta got overly curious about the nature of his relationship with Launch (leaving out of course any sentiment like his suspicion about her being hurt by men before). "It's not like him to ask personal stuff like that, 'cause he doesn't give a shit about what we do in our personal lives as long as we can still fight, but…"

"I think he was tryin' to compare your experiences without really knowin' how to ask," Launch observed. "No offense, but you guys really haven't got a clue how to be friendly without punchin' someone in the face, know what I mean?"

"Maybe…I guess I never considered that, uh, touch wasn't…much of a thing with his family. From what I remember his parents weren't so much like that. When my mother was personal with him he'd kinda," he wobbled his hand and made a motion to mime flinching, "Like that."

"Aw, your mom would hug him? That's cute!" she snickered.

"No, are you crazy!?" he burst, tail fur standing on end at the thought. "Mother was _kind_ , not _suicidal_ —you don't touch a royal _like that_ for any reason!"

"Tsk, 'cause they're elite, right? More like _elitist._ "

"Well…it's true, but you shouldn't say it," Raditz mumbled, scuffing his boots against the ground.

Really, why couldn't the caste system make it through their thick Earthling skulls? Launch merely shrugged, looking up at the skylight, she didn't say anything after that leaving Raditz to his thoughts for the moment.

Until she came back with: "How come you've never asked if it's okay for us to hug and stuff?"

 _Of all things! She asked **that**! _ Raditz let out a long, pained groan, rubbing his temples, slumped over to avoid looking at her. "Who _asks_ stuff like that? What do I look like? Some hormonal teenage boy that's never touched a girl?"

"Okay, okay, you got it from your mom, so you don't need any from me, I got it."

"…Do you _want_ to?" he tilted his head at her in confusion, "I figured…"

"You assumed," she corrected gently, shaking her head. "Raditz…it's sweet that you consider how I feel about somethin', tell the truth I never thought a guy would do that for me, but I can't always let bad things decide how I'm gonna feel in the future."

 _Holy shit._ She continued to be amazing in ways he couldn't even comprehend, not even for the fact that she was open to him touching her—he wasn't _needy_ for attention or anything—but how honest and _brave_ she was. Who really would be _fine_ with—even invite—the attention of a blood-soaked warrior, to push past whatever hurt she had experienced just for _this_?

"It's not all me, y'know," she shook her head when he voiced his thoughts. "When Bulma was goin' off to become a Patroller, I kinda freaked out 'cause I was worried—somethin' might have happened, right? And because I always flipped sides and forgot what the other experienced, I wouldn't have known what was goin' on. That gets annoying, right?"

"You Earthlings and your consideration for your associates _confounds_ me," Raditz chuffed with a roll of his eyes.

"No it doesn't," Launch called him out on his blatant dishonesty. "You understand about as well as anyone. I think you understand more than your Saiyan buddies, at that, and you don't wanna admit you do 'cause emotional constipation is cultural or somethin'."

 _Emotional constipation?_ What a vivid and crude term!

…But it was a little funny. And true.

"Well…whether or not I understand, I'm not going to complain if you start hugging me, but I'm also not going to crave it."

He had _some_ pride, after all, he wasn't a needy man—or promiscuous despite some untoward rumors he had heard flitting about regarding not just him but even _Vegeta_. It was total nonsense, of course, Vegeta had discipline that would make a hermit jealous and he had refined denying his own physical wants and needs to a science. Raditz…just wasn't interested in being so vulnerable around a stranger, even for brief gratification. It felt too much like throwing caution to the wind and putting himself into a situation that could get very bad very quickly.

Nappa, being Nappa, didn't give a shit and did what he wanted.

Somehow, though it was _ridiculous_ and not good for his dignity at all, he found himself talking to Launch about that. She laughed, not at him, but laughed nonetheless, shaking her head. "If it makes ya feel better, I've been called stuff like that too."

"You've told me that, fucking rude of them honestly," he sighed. Of course Raditz had his rant about how Earthlings treated women, but it didn't exactly mean the universe as a whole was respectful. "It's like, they assume just because I'm—I don't know, a man? A Saiyan?—That I just go around and—you know, that."

"I dunno about Saiyans," Launch continued, "I've had some guys get real _weird_ on me. There was one that like, called me 'the one that got away' or whatever just 'cause I didn't wanna his 'muse' or somethin'."

"His _what_?" Raditz shook his head, smiling despite himself.

"Yeah, right? I don't get it. Makes it real hard to tell if a guy just wants to be—like, normal, treat me like an actual person instead of a 'nice girl' or some 'challenge' to conquer." Her expression became gentle then, very gentle for the wilder half of Launch. "You're different, y'know. When we first met, you talked without tryin' to hit on me."

"I insulted your beliefs in being good!"

"Well _yeah_ , but it made me think! My other side, she's always tried to be a good girl 'cause she was told she was _supposed_ to be. But like, bein' good, and wanting to protect someone important to you? At the same time, pickin' fights or hurting people _isn't_ good, it's confusing."

Oh, wonderful! Discussions about being "good" versus being "bad" again—actually, he was looking forward to her bringing something like that up again. "I've been thinking," he hastily said, trying to get his thoughts out before they got lost again. "I think, the kind of place I come from, there isn't really a 'good' or 'bad', you get me? So it doesn't really matter to me how you act when you've proven yourself as someone capable."

"Ahh…" She hummed, that same inexplicably calm demeanor still in place as she looked over the landscape bustling with _life_. "I think I get it. Under this Frieza guy, and with fucked up people like Turles runnin' around, all you really have to think about is survival, right?" She remembered, of course, the message that his mother had left bidding her son to "be good"—but what did _that_ mean for Saiyans, exactly? She never viewed herself as much of a philosopher, though it was an interesting conundrum. "Like even when you go around destroyin' things, you're not thinking about _that_ , you're thinking about surviving."

Raditz nodded, realizing that in the time they were speaking Launch had covered his hand with her own. "Nappa thinks about it sometimes, how there's no real honor in it, no satisfactory fight, but it's what we do. Saiyans can't really do much but fight, that's how it's always been, and that's what Frieza uses us for right now."

"Well, first of all, I think you guys can do a lot more than fight," Launch pointed out. "Y'can talk to people, bond with 'em—not that that's the be all end all, of course, and fighting is great, but you could do whatever the hell you want in the time you want without Frieza breathin' down your necks."

"What _would_ I even do without Frieza…?" He considered it, couldn't think of much, the idea of settling in a home base and training via travel occurred to him as something fulfilling but that seemed all too distant. Nobody could stand up to Frieza, let alone destroy him, not to mention the rumors that even beyond him there was something _worse_. "…Hey, Launch, what do you do in your free time exactly?"

Launch didn't have a job as far as he could tell, it seemed like she was someone who was too easily pushed into the background and forgotten about which was hardly fair of course. She shrugged, flicking her blonde curls over her shoulder, and gave him a careless smirk. "I do whatever the hell I want! Tho' the Briefs offered me a place to stay when I need t'get away from Kame House—and believe me, I need space away from that old lecher even if part-a me won't admit it."

"Got that right," Raditz muttered in assent, remembered the horrid stories about the old turtle hermit.

"They treat me right, I think they get lonely without Bulma around even if they don't show it, and Tights hasn't been with 'em for years. So I help with their empty nest feelings, and Panchy lets me use her shooting range."

He balked at the words, he understood _shooting range_ and he understood Launch's itchy trigger finger, but calling it _Panchy's_ surprised him most of all. The Briefs matron appeared awfully sweet—did she have another side to her like Launch did?!

She laughed at his flabbergasted expression, "Surprised? Panchy is pretty good with a gun! She handles the security detail around the compound, she just stays low-key about it s'all."

Earthlings really were something else, weren't they? He shook his head, sighing, deciding that he had taken in enough information about _that_ topic for the day when his attention was caught by a noise in the distance. Beyond the general noises of critters surrounding them and their own heartbeats, he faintly heard stomping. "Ah, I think sleeping beauty is awake."

"Geets?" Launch nodded, giving his hand a squeeze before standing up again. "Aight, then let's go make sure his royal shortness doesn't go apeshit on any CC employees."

"Was that a _pun_ again?" Raditz groaned, following after the woman nonetheless.

It turned out Vegeta was in a surprisingly calm but impatient mood after his apparent nap, talking something about a damned lazy wench that wouldn't wake up and show him something or other.

Yamcha, the equally damned fool, was trying to put him at ease and make friends or something. "Hey, man, relax, would ya? You're one of Bulma's friends, right? Why don't we just have something to eat first before buggin' the doc?"

"Oh, yes, I'm one of her _friends_ all right," Vegeta said in a strangely ominous tone on the word _friends_.

Raditz felt a little bad for Yamcha doing his utmost to continue the conversation despite Vegeta's clear disinterest. "Hey…" he began, inexplicably compelled to come between the two before something regrettable happened. "Vegeta, maybe we should? How long has it been since we landed?"

"Vegeta!" _that foolish man_ grinned, going to do that _definitely unwise gesture_ of throwing an arm around him. "Bulma's told me a bit about you! She said you're super strong, we shou—"

Thankfully for Yamcha (though Vegeta was likely annoyed at the opportunity to enact violence on someone being taken away from him) he was pulled by the wrist a slight distance away from the prince. Nappa had joined them in the hullaballoo without their notice, giving a warning look to the man. "Hey, careful there," he said, "Vegeta's not into that sort of thing."

Whatever _that sort of thing_ meant, Yamcha got the message and backed off, laughing nervously. "Right, my bad! Anyways, we can get to know each other over a meal, yeah? I bet you guys eat as much as Goku!"

He didn't know about that, they probably ate more than him, but at least they would get to eat _something_.

* * *

 

 

Something was wrong.

Bulma woke up alone—not surprising, it wasn't like she expected Vegeta to stay there the _whole_ time—with a sense of foreboding hanging over her. She blinked against the darkness, trying to adjust her sight while simultaneously trying to feel out what was _wrong_ in her senses. It wasn't ki, not quite, just an unusual _malevolence_ that pushed her up from her bed, out of her room, and down the hall. It was an oppressive fearful kind of aura that made her heart pound the closer she got to her living room that made her wish _someone_ was with her, maybe Vegeta (a thought which irritated her since Bulma Briefs was _not_ the type of person who wanted to rely on a man).

So lost in her thoughts and trying to pinpoint _what_ the aura was, Bulma didn't realize someone was with her until someone pulled her into a tight grasp, her shriek immediately smothered by a hand over her mouth.

"Don't panic," a soothing feminine voice whispered in her ear even as Bulma struggled.

The quickest way to make Bulma panic was to tell her to _not_ panic, she fought against the hold, her muffled screams piercing the quiet of the room as she saw a large shadow lumber directly into her line of sight.

"Easy, princess," the shadow spoke with a voice so deep and rough it resounded into her bones. "We're not here t—"

He looked up at something out of Bulma's line of sight, the woman holding her shifted as well, a spark of ki lit up the room before Bulma even sensed it coming.

"Let go, and explain yourself, _now_ ," the severe voice of Vegeta ordered, the illuminating light of the ki casting menacing shadows on his face.

With the light of the ki, Bulma was able to see for the first time who at least one of her captors were—a large and broad male that appeared…grayish? And had horns? No, it was only a helmet of some kind, but overall he reminded her of Ox-King without the gratuitous hair, never mind the fact that he appeared overall much less friendly than said monarch and was dressed in a simple green vest and dark blue pants as opposed to the elaborate armor Ox-King favored.

The person holding her let go at the command and backed off, allowing Bulma to get a look at her as well—a woman about her height with light pink skin and red hair, Bulma would have almost thought her human if it weren't for the pointed ears. Her attire looked to be some sort of sleeveless leotard with thin straps, topped off with an ornate blue crown on her head.

What the hell was going on here? Was this some kind of convention going on in her house?

"We're not here to _hurt_ anybody," the woman insisted, gesturing between herself and her companion. "Actually, we're looking for someone—and we know _this_ woman here knows how to find him."

Bulma blinked, finally getting over the total darkness of the room and turning on the lights just as a couple of _other_ people clambered down the stairs trying to figure out why there was an abrupt rising of ki. Great, she thought sourly, more people to make this whole thing a clusterfuck. "Can I get a _name_ to you guys first before you start with your mysterious quest spiel? And Vegeta, power down, would you? We all know you're a big scary destroyer prince."

"Woman, they were _attacking_ you!" he snapped, dispersing the ki ball despite the harshness of his words.

"I don't put my targets in a hold first if I'm going to kill them." The strange woman sighed, shaking her head, looking semi-awkward as she glanced around the room at the others. "Well…let's see…names first, I suppose. Melee is mine, and this is Gola."

"We came up from the demon realm 'cause someone's causing a ruckus up top," Gola rumbled, ignoring Bulma's gesture to sit down on the couch. "As you can probably tell, we're demons."

"No shit," Bulma scoffed. "But why are you out of the demon realm? Who's causing a ruckus and what does any of it have to do with me or this 'person'?"

"Indeed," Mosto said from his position of watching from the foot of the stairs. "Demons don't belong among mortals, and yet here _you_ are."

Melee reacted first, staring at the Namekian with a look of horror that didn't match her initial cool demeanor. "Piccolo?! How is it—?! You can't be _here_! He couldn't have found you _yet_!"

"Piccolo…" Mosto repeated the name, his brow furrowing. "That's not my name, and how do you know what a Namekian looks like, let alone the language?"

That's right, upon recollection it turned out the word "piccolo" had a double meaning between languages—it meant "another world" in Namekian, Bulma knew. So who was Piccolo and how did they resemble Mosto enough to prompt that sort of disturbed look in the demon woman?

"All right," she interrupted before things could become more convoluted. "Hey, Mom? Can you make us all some tea?" Her posture turned official, pointing at one demon then the other as she said: "And _you_ two are going to explain to us what the fuck is happening already. It's the least you could do after treating me so roughly."

"— _And_ stalking us the past couple of days!" Yamcha piped up.

"We weren't st—" Melee pressed her lips together, considering. "All right, it was _sort_ of stalking, but you all weren't the intended targets anyway. And fine, let's—um, let's start from the beginning."

"Hurry up about it!" Vegeta growled, fingers twitching as if he was just _itching_ to tighten them around someone's neck.

"Hey, princess, tell your boyfriend to calm down," the larger demon added in sotto voce to her.

"No, also he's not my boyfriend. Also-also stop calling me princess."

This was shaping up to be a long night.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When King Piccolo?
> 
> Now King Piccolo.
> 
> Sorta. We're diverging right into him anyway for our first fully-on-Earth arc.
> 
> Credit for the reference I used with my drawing comes from [here](http://croxovergoddess.tumblr.com/post/138432517130/my-draw-the-squad-memes-so-far) where you can find other neat references.


	20. Bittersweet Nothings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Capsule Corp. gets a little more crowded, Bulma and Vegeta have a slightly mature discussion that isn't actually mature at all considering it's them, Bulma and Yamcha have a genuinely mature discussion, the whole gang is reunited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not happy with this chapter for a lot of reasons but well!! If I agonize over it, it'll never get done, so here it is!

Melee immediately made it evident that she was the one more gifted with speech out of the pair. Not to say Gola was unintelligent and lacked capability of speech, only that he remained reserved as he sat beside his companion, eyeing everyone in the room warily as they exchanged information.

"So Goku is an alien," Melee said, unsurprised in tone and sipping her tea with an air of sophistication that was absolutely out of place in the Briefs home. "And your…friends here are also aliens." Her gaze strayed to the Herans and stayed there much longer than the others before turning back to Bulma. "On first glance, I would assume them to be demons."

"Yeah, well, they're not," Bulma huffed, almost too defensive of her friends considering they weren't the first blue-skinned people she ever encountered (not that she wanted to think of Pilaf at that moment either).

Vegeta sat rigid beside her, watching the two right back with a hostile demeanor that spoke personal outrage like it was _his_ home that had been invaded.

Again, Bulma feared she would gag on the amount of machismo radiating throughout the living room. Like it wasn't _enough_ learning about some "demon king" sealed in a rice cooker somewhere in the ocean? And _someone_ —Melee never got to the question of who it was with Vegeta hurrying her along with impatient snaps of his ki—was looking for that sealed container to release him? And _if_ King Piccolo were to be released, all Hell (literally) would break loose? It was too much. Far, far too much.

"But this one…" Melee looked up at Mosto, who stared right back at her coolly. "How is it that you look just like King Piccolo, but—?" She trailed off as if expecting the Namekian would cut her off.

He only shrugged, shaking his head as he answered: "I cannot say for sure what your 'Piccolo' experienced to lead him down the path he has. This would be a simpler affair were I able to share any memories. Alas, it won't be so easy this time." He declined the offer of tea from Bulma's mother again, closing his eyes in concentration. "I am from the planet Namek. It is a peaceful place, far different from Earth in appearance."

The images of a green sky and sea, blue grass, and triplet suns came to mind as he spoke. It looked like a lovely place, Bulma couldn't imagine someone on the level of a "demon king" coming from a nice place like Namek.

"We suffered a drought many years ago, unsurprising I suppose as we indeed have three suns. But my people _need_ water, the lack of it in addition to the heat absolutely devastated us as crops would under the same condition. Many of my brethren died." His eyes snapped open again, staring straight ahead at nothing in his daze of recollection. "I heard one of my people sent away his offspring in hopes of shielding them from the suffering, perhaps with the thought of retrieval after the worst of it passed. Yet…"

"But that's only a rumor, isn't it?" Raditz cut in, raising a skeptical brow. "This woman here is claiming 'Demon King Piccolo' to be doing things like drinking blood, consuming flesh, creating whole _armies_ of demons. How could a Namekian…?"

His eyes snapped to Raditz, silencing the Saiyan immediately. "Have you ever wondered why we have sharp teeth despite our natural diets?" Mosto, unintentionally or not was unclear, grimaced at something unseeable exposing his teeth for all to see.

In truth, yes, of course Bulma wondered! His teeth were more prominent and sharper than even the Saiyans who only displayed points on their canines. It didn't make a whole lot of sense for a species that consumed nothing but sunlight and water to _have_ them. Though considering the look on Mosto's face, she wasn't sure she _wanted_ the true reason for why Namekians had teeth like that, it was bound to be disturbing.

It was also inevitable that the reason would be told anyway as Mosto continued, "Darkness is not an unfamiliar concept to my people." He laced his fingers together, leaning forward in his seat to stare deeply into his enclosed hands, seeming to struggle with sharing the information. "We experienced the ignorant impulses of violence and the usual worldly desires, very much on the level of demons. Our first Grand Elder sought to free himself from the vices, I suppose it would be best compared to an ascetic denying all physical wants and needs to achieve enlightenment."

The thought of Namekians engaging in all levels of hedonism was genuinely horrifying, the shiver that ran through Bulma felt like a cold hand running up her spine as she fought against making her shudder obvious. She wouldn't cower or flinch at the story, it wasn't the time to lock up, especially not in front of the watchful eyes of the demons. Why were they watching her that way? _Mosto_ was the one speaking, shouldn't they have been paying attention to _him_? It didn't take a genius like Bulma to figure that they wanted her to help with seeking out Goku—the little guy always seemed to run into the most interesting people—but how had they found _her_ home first but never sought out Goku themselves?

"Over time, other Namekians followed suit, we began to change, although vestiges of our…past remained." Mosto rubbed his fingers across his teeth for a moment, sighing. "In weaker spirits, those who fear, they would sway back to evil impulses; consume flesh, drink blood, create 'demonic' offspring as a result of their consumption."

Just as it seemed Bulma would become overwhelmed by the anxiety the story created, she felt the gentle touch of a hand on hers. Obviously it wasn't Vegeta sat on her other side (and he would never _ever_ do something like that in front of other people), her mother was across the room, as was Yamcha. She glanced over with a hesitant smile to Launch whose green eyes twinkled with earnest reassurance. _It's okay_ , she mouthed to Bulma as Melee finally answered the Namekian's story.

"Tell me, is it usual for your species to…split yourselves?"

"Split," Mosto repeated in a flat tone. "In battle, yes, and we are capable of fusing with other Namekians—however, you mean to say that this brother split himself off from the half that carried his evil impulses, don't you?"

She didn't answer at first, looking at the floor with an expression that crossed between apprehension and understanding. It was an unusual look for a demon, really it was abnormal that she and her companion even were going to the trouble of intercepting this "demon king." Didn't demons _want_ to bring misery to the mortals above? But then again, it had been said repeatedly that demons "didn't belong" among mortals, contrary to the myths. Perhaps it was all a matter of a sense of duty to them. "That explains some things…" Melee finally said in a soft voice. "Kami, the Guardian of Earth, is Piccolo's other half. His 'good' half—overall more proper as Namekians go, I suppose."

"The Guardian of the planet…" Mosto looked out one of the windows into the night, his eyes trailing up to the starry sky in awe. "I see. This brother—Kami—feared his darker half. And to be a guardian of a planet you must be void of _all_ dark and selfish inclinations." He shook his head, a pitying expression coming over him then. "He was desperate enough to split himself…but, he should not have done that, he only weakened himself."

Whatever that meant, Bulma's eyelids began to flutter as exhaustion creeped up on her. It was too much, and it was too late to start talking about plans to deal with Piccolo. "Can we just…pause this right now and go back to bed?" she sighed, trying not to lean over onto Vegeta. "Your creepy auras woke me up before you idiots tried to—whatever to me."

"We tried to have a conversation with you!" Melee huffed defensively.

"Don't be mad, Princess, we'll let ya have your beauty sleep," Gola rolled his eyes, "You definitely n—"

A spark of ki lit up in Vegeta's hand, a warning look on his face.

"…Uh. Anyways."

"No, wait, Gola!" Melee cut in, gesturing to Launch and Bulma. "We didn't say everything? And _they_ need to be warned about—"

" _Later_ , Melee," he grunted. "The mortals need their _sleepy-sleep_."

 _Finally_. The room was slowly emptying out and quieting down with a flick of the lights turning off. Only Bulma and Vegeta remained there in the living room.

She fidgeted, casting a look to him. "How did you know?"

How did he know she was caught by someone and in trouble, that is. Only Goku ever came when she was in danger and _that_ was because he heard her screaming, she didn't even get to scream just then.

"I felt your aura moving around, then it spiked. I took it as distress," he replied with all the emotion and warmth of an iceberg.

"Oh." Bulma sat stiffly beside him, staring deep into the darkness. "…I'm tired, Vegeta," she eventually said, slumping forward, elbows resting on her knees.

"You are," he agreed, still with that emotionless tone. "You've been taxing your frail human body for a while now."

"You're tired, too!" she spat back, wanting more venom to be in her voice than there was.

"Perhaps," Vegeta shrugged, "But I am a Saiyan. We thrive on pushing ourselves."

"I'm having your nightmares," she declared, interrupting what would doubtless be another long diverting speech about the superiority of Saiyans.

Vegeta froze beside her, the warmth of his tail encircling around her waist then surprised her into sitting upright again. They fell silent, the miserable pair each caught between their own dilemma of how to address the unfortunate truth. "I'm not expecting an apology," Bulma tried first.

Apologies, expressions of gratitude, any sort of tender words she couldn't-shouldn't-wouldn't expect from Vegeta. He was a man who expressed his thoughts and feelings through actions, his tail wrapped protectively around her expressed his honest dismay at the confirmation of his fears more than any simple words ever would. Although "fear" was inaccurate to describe Vegeta's conundrum, it was more of an issue of vulnerability, and internally Vegeta was _extremely_ vulnerable. His nightmares weren't always about her ending up in Frieza's clutches (though there were quite a few and seemed to spike in frequency the more stressed he was) sometimes she would see the forms of his Saiyan companions and still more she didn't recognize, achromatic in color, _staring_ , moving unnaturally like damaged marionettes.

The worst one, the rarest one, was his mother with Frieza's hands around her neck, which would then turn into Bulma herself with _Vegeta's_ hands throttling her.

"I think I would rather be tuned into those 'kissing dreams' you kept whining about," she attempted to joke, to bring _some_ normalcy to how completely _abnormal_ their situation was.

"I do not _whine_ ," he snapped back with a perceptible whine in his tone and a huffy pout in his expression.

She laughed, his frown deepened. After a moment, Bulma came to a decision, reaching out and taking his hand. Vegeta automatically returned the gesture though he was looking away from her. "I slept well when you were with me," she said. "But…if that's not something you're comfortable with…"

"Woman, you're half asleep and having _my_ nightmares, if _that_ is what's required of me to keep having you work efficiently as my technician, then I'll deal with it." He turned his nose up in an exaggerated show of disgust. "But not all night, understand? I don't want any lectures from your idiot teacher, or—" He winced, a look of intense discomfort coming over his face.

(If Bulma didn't know better, she would think a blush came over his cheeks as well.)

"Your mother discomfits me. And that— _thing_ , that intruder had some _nerve_ suggesting such a vulgar thing about me—"

"What? Saying you're my boyfriend?" she pounced on his muttered grievances. "I told him you weren't, though."

"Your _mother_ —" He emphasized the word like it was a curse, "—Suggested that I was as well. It was obscene."

While Bulma wasn't shocked Panchy left Vegeta _very_ uncomfortable, the fact that he kept calling the idea obscene bothered her. "Okay, I _know_ you don't think I'm ugly even though I'm not a Saiyan, why do you keep acting like being called my boyfriend is as disgusting as Frieza in the shower?"

He didn't answer for a good couple of seconds, staring at her wide-eyed, mouth agape before he numbly tried to form words. It seemed he was conflicted over answering her question and reacting to the _vile_ image she put into his head, which would usually amuse Bulma quite a bit if she wasn't so weary of Saiyan Bullshit.

"B-because! It implies that we're _fucking_!" he wheezed, a squeak that wouldn't be out of place on a very old toy inherent in the _"fu!"_

Bulma was torn between laughing, being insulted that he found the idea so offensive, and irritation.

Of course, he was a man raised by a single man around _mostly_ other men; Vegeta would never _say_ that Nappa was a father figure out of respect to his real father, but it only made sense he would defer to the word of Nappa first. Even if Nappa was an _idiot_.

"Was I having sex with Yamcha?" she asked calmly, directly, shocking a blush to the Saiyan's cheeks.

He twisted his lips in a combination of mortification and consideration—apparently torn between disliking the thought of her with another person and genuinely considering her query. "No, he rejected you," he answered after a moment. "Should that not have immediately stripped him of this 'boyfriend' title?"

It stung being reminded of being rejected as she was, then later dumped though it _was_ truly for the better. Bulma carefully schooled her expression to not show any of the old hurt—he can't help it, he's a _guy_ and he's inexperienced, Vegeta _really_ can't help it. She refused to give an inch and show that he had hurt her.

"He had a lot of nerve doing that, you know!" he abruptly cut into her ego-crushing thoughts, appearing insulted. "Going around claiming that title, giving you nothing in return, _then_ ending things? You should have given him more than a black eye."

She giggled, shaking her head as she looked back at her shockingly naïve friend with a thin smile. "If he gave me nothing, why should I have given him more, even if it was pain?"

Vegeta scowled, his tail tightened around her waist in a brief squeeze ( _almost a hug_ ) before going back to its resting around her. "Don't look at me like that, Bulma. _Tarble_ looks at me like that, I know it means you're…having feelings."

Spoken like feelings were some moment of temporary insanity, typical of Vegeta. Still, it warmed her heart to realize in his own way Vegeta was trying to express sympathy and comfort. "Nappa was wrong, being a boyfriend or girlfriend or a romantic partner isn't defined by sex, okay? It means you're…close. You like each other's company, you talk, you spend time together. Hold hands, hug, kiss, go out—"

"—Isn't that what we do?" Vegeta narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Have I been the 'boyfriend' to you this whole time?"

"Uh. It requires a _lot_ more awareness and consent than that," she explained, trying not to trip up over the larger implications of what they were discussing. "I'm not imagining this turning into some perfect realization where we're like 'oh my gosh! We were meant to be _together_!' Shit like that only happens in movies."

"You're saying a lot of words just to tell me 'no', woman," Vegeta gruffly interrupted what was shaping up to be another round of talking too much out of nervousness from Bulma.

"Well…yeah, no, it doesn't make you my boyfriend."

He tilted his head at her, a clear question in his eyes. That was never a good sign for anything resembling dignity. "And when our relation becomes _more_ physical?"

_Why did he say that like it was inevitable!?_

Bulma's gaze turned quickly to the floor to hide the flush coming over her face while she stuttered. "St-still…still no. Being…like that…implies being exclusive…and…y-you know, together! We can just be casual, okay? I don't exactly love the idea of a man leaving me when he's done _again_ , and when Frieza's dead, you'll…"

Leave, wouldn't he? Wasn't that the inevitable end to the story? Bulma knew it, Vegeta surely knew it himself, so why did it hurt her to consider? She wasn't interested in being a war wife and Vegeta was certainly no hero that would come back at the end of the story roughed up but otherwise happy to _stay._

"Will I?" he mused, raising a finger between them to swipe at something invisible.

The red string, Bulma realized, she almost _felt_ the tug as though Vegeta had really touched it. That inconvenient thing, drawing them back to each other despite the impossible odds—was it really the big influence behind their relation? The "bond" as Vegeta talked about did seem to grow stronger the further apart they were, out of a desire to be with one another if she was guessing right. Why didn't she just have it severed after all, she didn't _need_ some weird semi-magical rope tying her to someone and surely they had more to their _friendship_ than just that peculiar bond. It didn't suit Bulma Briefs to follow some nebulous ideas without concrete proof, after all. It didn't suit Vegeta, either, he was just as logical-minded as her. He had wanted to meet her again as an opponent and pay her back for his "defeat"—yet there they were being friends and talking about _casual sex_ of all things.

 _Fuck, I can't believe I'm going to say this._ "…Just, casual, Vegeta. I mean, do you _want_ that freaky fish guy tattling to Frieza that you have a girlfriend?"

"Cui, and don't misunderstand, I'm not saying I want some absurd title like that."

"Okay." She rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Then can we just go to bed already?"

In the dark, she only saw a vague outline of Vegeta illuminated in the starlight (not the moon, she had to remind herself, there was no moon). Bulma waited for him to answer.

And waited.

And _waited._

"Vegeta…?"

His tail shifted, moving away from its hold on her as he stood. Annoyingly unreadable as always, that man, she thought with a forlorn sigh while trying not to mourn the loss of warmth. "If we go that far, Vegeta—"

"When," Vegeta interrupted, sounding _too_ certain for her liking.

" _If_ , do you think I'm _easy_?! Geez!"

"Nothing about you is _easy_ , Bulma," he said, obviously misunderstanding what she meant. "We have a bond and a fair amount of trust between us—or at least we trust one another _enough_. Correct me if I'm wrong—"

( _Oh, as **if**_.)

"—But is that not ideal for that sort of thing? It's only common sense."

Bulma took a breath, her head swimming a little with all of what was happening and her own exhaustion. It made _sense_ to her logical half, even to her emotional half, and it irritated her how _much_ sense it made, but—

"I was _getting_ to that if a certain Saiyan _jerkoff_ didn't interrupt me!"

( _Was jerkoff really the right thing to say there, Bulma? Come on!_ Her thoughts chided.)

Bulma stood up to face him, planting her hands on her hips with a huff. "I'm—I'm not the kind of girl who sleeps around. So… _if_ that happens—" She gave a pointed glare to Vegeta when he opened his mouth to correct with an obnoxious _when_. "You're going to have to tell me _if_ you find someone else, okay?! If I find out you're cheating, I'll kick your ass!"

He didn't make any snide comments in reply (at first) only raised an eyebrow at her, then shook his head with a scoff, "Woman, _never_ question a Saiyan's loyalty." After a beat, he added: "The same goes for you."

She grumbled to herself, wondering if it was her imagination that Vegeta looked strangely smug as she grabbed onto his arm to lead back to her room. "I didn't want to pressure _you_ into anything," she muttered.

He had the gall to snort, " _Pressure_? You can't pressure _me_ into anything."

Now she felt stupid for even trying to consider his boundaries! "Ohhh…! Shut up. Just shut up, Vegeta!"

Despite Vegeta being Vegeta, he did stay silent even as they settled in to sleep. Bulma was the one to break the silence with: "What's the Ginyu Incident?"

Vegeta shivered, images of strange multi-colored aliens that…posed and called him "Veggie" came to mind. "I'm not talking about the Ginyu Incident."

"Who's Jeice and why do you want to smash his teeth in?" She only could vaguely see that Jeice was _looking_ at her in a way Vegeta disliked somehow.

"An asshole. And I want to rip out his tongue, Guldo's the one I want to smash his teeth in. Go to sleep."

"Oh fine, spoilsport."

She didn't want him to leave _so_ soon, after all, prodding him about the Ginyu Force would have to come when she wasn't in a position of _needing_ him so darned much.

* * *

 

Raditz observed that Mosto had retreated to the garden to meditate after the conversation with the intruders. He was still there after they woke up and went about their business. The demons didn't _accost_ them with trying to explain further what that business was with the evil Namekian. Quite frankly, the story about corrupted Namekians was disturbing enough—even Saiyans at their absolute worse never drank blood…he thought, perhaps, maybe? Yes, there _was_ the eating of aliens' corpses, but that was done for survival, it wasn't like Raditz _enjoyed_ it—he _thought_ Nappa and Vegeta didn't, either.

Speaking of Nappa, the old man had pulled up a seat next to him in the yard, following his line of sight to the Namekian. "What's he up to?" Nappa asked.

"He's trying to find and make contact with this 'Guardian' that was mentioned last night," he replied, not certain _how_ he understood that was what was happening yet understanding just by looking at him nonetheless.

"Mmhmm…hey, Raditz, what say we go into town? You, me, Tyber, Vegeta? Just us Saiyans."

The query broke his concentration, Raditz looked up at the older Saiyan with an expression that would make one think Nappa had just proposed marriage. "The city? Don't we need credits or—whatever Earthlings use?"

"Zeni, and—" Nappa waved a plastic card under Raditz's nose, grinning triumphantly. "Panchy let me borrow this, she said it's all we need to have as much fun around town as we want."

"Our idea of fun is fighting and killing usually," he argued, trying to ignore how uncomfortable the generosity made him. "I think Bulma would be pissed if we did fun _our_ way."

"Hey, hey, that's not true and you know it, we can have fun in ways besides wreckin' shit."

"You mean like _eating_?" Raditz countered again. " _Four_ fully-grown Saiyans would completely decimate an Earth restaurant."

"Raditz, who died and made you fun-killer?" Nappa said seriously, putting a hand on his shoulder and fixing him with a worried stare. "Panchy's makin' a big breakfast for us, we're meetin' with the family tailor later so y'ain't gonna get tempted to buy a nice dress or something—"

"—That only happened once!" Raditz cut in. "And I liked it, shut up!"

Nappa brushed him off, continuing as if nothing had been said: "Let's just go around and have a looksee."

"I doubt Tyber would wanna hang out with us, either."

"Of course he wouldn't wanna hang out with you two brats, I'm his best friend though so obviously he'll agree."

When in the universe had they become _best_ friends? Nappa seemed awfully proud of himself about such an insignificant title. Raditz would almost want to laugh if it wasn't _Nappa_ who could, and would, and _had_ so easily throw him through a couple of mountains.

"You ignoble ham, _of course_ I don't want to hang out with those brats, and _you_ aren't my best friend," an irritated voice came from behind them.

"Oh, hey Tyber," Nappa greeted nonchalantly, not even bothering to turn around or acknowledge the insult. Raditz meanwhile only understood the "ham" part of Tyber's insult. Nappa turned back, clapping Tyber on the shoulder with a grin. "Come on! We're going into the city!"

"Can't," Tyber clipped back, brushing off the gesture. "I have to attend to GP duties today."

"You're not even gonna listen in about that evil Namekian?" Raditz piped up.

He shook his head in response, glancing over at Mosto. "I'll hear it from him later. For that matter, you've forgotten about Tarble and Broly in your 'just us Saiyans' idea."

"No, I didn't," Nappa retorted, gesturing to the Capsule Corp. building. "They're kids, 'sides they seem more interested in playin' with Briefs' pets in there. And who else is gonna babysit _your_ kids, huh?"

They continued talking, the conversation becoming a dull buzz to Raditz's ears while he examined his surroundings. If he was honest with himself, he would much rather explore the compound than venture into the city as well. It was huge and there were still things—and people—he hadn't encountered. He was tired—not as tired as Bulma looked a couple of hours ago, though, she looked dead on her feet.

Huh. Was that concern? He guessed he was concerned about her. He hoped, though he would cut his hair and tail off before admitting this, she would be okay.

"There's no moon here," he said suddenly, interrupting the older Saiyans. "Bulma told me Kakarot had changed before, he killed the Earthling that adopted him."

"Erm…" Tyber stammered, grimacing. "Don't—don't be that blunt with Goku, he doesn't _know_ we do that."

"Oh…shit."

That's _right_ , finding out about being the monster that hurt or killed people he loves might upset Kakarot _deeply_. He would have to be _delicate_ about this or else Kakarot would respond poorly—worse, he might want to rid himself of his tail in response! How in the _Hell_ was he going to tell his little brother with—ugh— _sensitivity_?

Nappa watched him consider this with an undue ( _embarrassing_ ) amount of sympathy in his expression. "Radz, we'll figure out how to tell him that all together, don't worry about it."

"Yeah, but…it'd be like me finding out I killed Mom while transformed."

Oh, dear. Nappa raised his eyebrows. Raditz had not used an informal address towards either of his parents since their death.

"Your mum was tougher than that," Tyber said encouragingly. "Your dad, too, when I met him—" He stopped, realizing that he was speaking out of turn and equally informal.

"Whoa, you two," Nappa laughed, trying to disperse the awkward tension. "Mom? Dad? I never hear you guys talk like that! Well—not anymore for R—"

"When did you meet my _father_?" Raditz cut in, glaring down at the Patroller.

"A long time ago. Before you were born," he responded simply, eyes sliding away from him as he turned. "If you'll excuse me, I have to get to work."

"Hey!" Raditz went to grasp the retreating man by the shoulder, only to be stopped by Nappa.

"Leave him."

He slumped, feeling deflated by all of what was going on. "Nappa…sorry, I'm gonna stay here. I've gotta think about how I'm gonna tell Kakarot…"

Nappa sighed, frowning. "Listen Radz…ah, never mind." He patted Raditz solidly on the shoulder once, then turned back to the house. "We'll talk later."

Left alone, Raditz leaned back against his chair, looking up into the blue sky for a long moment, wishing that his cares could float away on the clouds. No such luck, of course, no such luck for Saiyans.

Mosto turned his head, gazing over at him. He didn't speak, only watched, before turning his stare back to the sky.

 

* * *

 

 

"Then, who _is_ trying to release Piccolo?" Tarble asked Melee over breakfast.

Melee, already appearing to be fondest of him out of all the mortals at the table, laced her fingers together on the table with a long sigh. "The first time the underworld was opened, without our knowing some demons escaped topside and remained out there."

Again, the two demons looked totally out of place, even with the Herans filtering in and out of the dining room. They explained the background of one demon called "Garlic" who had been sealed away in an alternate dimension of unending oblivion by Kami himself.

"Okay then…" Bulma mumbled, looking between the two, trying to suppress a yawn. "Then what does that have to do with Piccolo? Followers of Garlic?"

"Almost," Melee conceded, hardly bothering to take her eyes off Tarble with that gentle smile. "Garlic Jr., his son, swore revenge on Kami—the opening of the underworld was his opportunity to escape. He had come back a few weeks earlier to open up the underworld again for recruiting other demons."

"And now he's gonna release Piccolo to exact that revenge on Kami, oh goodie," she said dully as she sipped from her coffee.

"Lemme guess, is he some creepy dwarf with an inferiority complex?" Yamcha scoffed.

Melee turned her eyes back to him, her lips thinning in a show of not wanting to answer. "Mmmm…"

"Yes. Yes, he is," Gola answered brusquely. "Don't think he's got access to his Black Water Mist, though, so at least there's that. _That_ stuff turns people crazy by bringing out all their evil intent, he probably figures Piccolo won't want to be upstaged in the causing chaos and disaster thing and ol' _Junior_ just wants Kami."

 _"He cannot kill Kami without killing Piccolo, as they are two halves of the same being,"_ Mosto's voice echoed in their heads. _"I don't foresee Piccolo allowing such a thing to happen."_

"Oh, it's not _killing_ Kami Junior would want." Gola leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. "He'll seal him in the Dead Zone and release his father in turn. It doesn't kill anybody, so Piccolo wouldn't object."

Vegeta, a little more rested than before but still his grouchy self, noticed the attention his younger brother was getting from the demon woman and glared at her suspiciously. Everyone that knew the prince would likely roll their eyes at him in any other situation, any situation _besides_ discussing evil Namekians and demons. "I guarantee he is _too_ good for you, you vile hag," he sneered, tail flicking back and forth out of sight to everyone but Bulma who felt it brushing against her ankles. If he were anyone else, Bulma would think it was some gesture of affection rather than incidental to his own tail lashing from territorial irritation.

"B-brother…" Tarble mumbled, blushing furiously, trying to look anywhere besides at everyone at the table.

 _God, poor kid, he'll never have a love life if Vegeta has his way,_ Bulma thought, shaking her head. Yamcha cast a knowing glance to her, smiling a little at how ridiculous but _normal_ the interaction was.

"It's not that, she wants to _eat_ Tarble," Broly said with a note of alarm. "Demons eat the innocent, don't they?"

"Yes, we do tend to like the innocent," she replied, appearing unperturbed by the accusations thrown at her. "It's delightful making them squirm. But that reminds me—you, Bulma?"

"What?"

"You've most likely guessed by now we're here to tell you that Goku needs to be found right away—"

"And I was going to find him even without you guys asking, yeah yeah."

"—As I was saying, were you intending to fight the demons when they're released, too?"

Bulma drained her cup, setting it down with a not-so-gentle _thunk_ before nodding. "That's not something I can avoid, so yes I am."

The only one at the table who seemed alarmed or surprised in any measure by her answer was Yamcha, who fixed her with a frightened look as if she had said something totally insane. "Bulma, it's dangerous!"

"I didn't think it was going to be a walk in the park, Yamcha," she said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "But look—Piccolo is going to be targeting participants in the Tournament, right? So _you're_ all in danger anyway, and he has no idea that I or any of my friends here can serve as backup against his little army."

"Guess so," he sighed, still seeming worried. "But—"

"—I wanted to be more covert about sharing this information, but if your friends are going to insist on involving themselves in the conversation, I'm forced to be blunt," Melee interrupted with a click of her tongue. "Demons target the innocent, correct? The pure and untainted. I must warn you that male demons' favorite targets happen to be maidens like yourself _regardless_ of how impure your attitude happens to be."

A pin drop could have been heard in the room then, Bulma really rolled her eyes _that_ time. "How predictably sexist of them."

"It was only because they noticed human men seemed to—how do I put this?"

"Treat women like property to exchange around?" Raditz offered.

"Yes, that," she agreed, gesturing to Bulma. "To spite humanity further, they would target maidens to corrupt or kill. They claim maiden blood is best to drink, but—"

"How can you _tell_?" Bulma scoffed, far too annoyed by the "warning" to even be embarrassed by the implications. "And let me guess, only counts if you're with a guy, is that it?"

Melee blinked, it seemed she wasn't prepared for a reaction like the one from Bulma. "I, um…I suppose so."

"Again, how predictably sexist."

"They're _demons_ , Bulma, they're not exactly gonna be the epitome of equal rights over here!" Yamcha's distressed squeak cut in. "A-and anyway! That was _really_ personal of you to bring up out of nowhere, lady! D-don't you have anything more useful to tell us?!"

"I told your friend to be careful, lest she be targeted by demons specifically, especially in a fight where blood will be drawn. I _have_ told her something useful, the rest of you being here is simply incidental."

Perhaps it wasn't as useful as she thought it was, the group in the kitchen only shrugged and muttered their own half-formed thoughts and left it there. Not wanting to leave the conversation on _demons drinking maiden blood_ of all things, Bulma prompted them again: "You said the last time this happened, an old master used the Mafuba on Piccolo and died in the process, right?" At her nod, she continued, "Okay, then Yamcha—go call Roshi and tell him to bring everyone over. That old fossil probably knows something about this too and needs to be informed."

"Uhhh…o…kay…" he stumbled over his words, already standing to leave the table. "It—it's been a while since we've all been together anyway, ahaha…"

With the awkward laugh of a man trying to hold things together in the wake of something utterly improbable and ludicrous happening, Yamcha left the room to call Kame House.

After breakfast, Melee and Gola departed for a final time, informing them that they would only come above ground again when Piccolo was released and no sooner. Everyone remaining drifted off to their own business, leaving Bulma at the table with Yamcha.

"They…they should be here in about an hour," he said, staring down at the table like he would find a hidden message carved in there.

Bulma hummed in reply, watching the expression of her ex shift around with discomfort. "Yamcha, we need to talk about what happened," she finally spoke aloud her thoughts. "Last time there was a lot of self-blame and crying. Then punching. That wasn't a good breakup."

"Breakups aren't supposed to be good, babe—I mean—shoot, sorry." He coughed, thumping himself on the chest to correct his breathing. "Okay…so…what?"

"You first." She thought it was only fair that he got to say his piece first, if he _had_ any, Yamcha wasn't the type to hold grudges or dwell on things.

Confirming what she figured, Yamcha only shrugged. "I haven't really got anything to say, Bulma! You covered it all pretty well when we split—though, I've been thinking we could…try again…?" His voice grew quieter and quieter until Bulma strained to hear it, surprising her when he returned to normal volume: "Hey, what'd you tell them about me?"

"Hmm?" She shouldn't have felt so relieved that Yamcha wanted to discuss her friends rather than any possibility of them trying again. Though what his question was _very_ off-putting. "Have you been having trouble with them? I haven't told anybody anything particular about you. Was it Vegeta giving you trouble? Because he's just an asshole."

"He does seem pretty cold, but no, he didn't give me trouble—it was more, um…your teacher?" The slight stutter and cast of his eyes to another direction spoke immeasurable fear that alarmed Bulma more than it should have. "When we shook hands, he squeezed like he wanted to break me."

Tyber? Bulma considered for a moment why Tyber of all people would be so…unrestrained? It wasn't like him, he avoided hurting people as much as possible. Especially if there was no re—

Oh. Oh no.

Bulma winced, looking down at the floor guiltily, standing up from her chair to turn away from Yamcha. "I, uh…"

"Bulma?" Yamcha's concerned question came as she heard his chair shift behind her, then his presence trying to get her to turn around. "Bulma, are you okay?"

"I…called him after we broke up," she admitted in a small voice, ashamed. "It was immediately after I left, when you—you know. I was just…I wasn't thinking straight."

"Aw, geez, no wonder," he sighed. "Okay, I get it, he got a bad impression of me 'cause I'm the guy that hurt his daughter, right?" He laughed, though it sounded weak, scratching the back of his head.

"I'm…sorry," Bulma mumbled. "I'm sorry. I was being irrational, the whole time."

"Bulma, it's _okay_ ," Yamcha breathed out, putting his hands on her shoulders and turning her to face him. "Talk to me, you didn't get to say everything last year, did you? I mean…you thought a couple of times that I was cheating on you?"

"It's 'cause…you're so friendly, and you never blew off those girls when they started flirting with you. I don't know if you were super oblivious or liked the attention, but it felt like that with…how you never really spent time with me, all that training, it was like I was just a novelty and that wore off. Now that you had the experience of a 'city girl girlfriend' or whatever, you were done with me."

"Oh my god, Bulma! Were you thinking this the whole time?!" Yamcha cried, shaking his head. "Why didn't you—?"

"You weren't _THERE!"_ Bulma snapped impatiently, finding that her posture was turning stiff in his hold. "You were _training_! And I didn't want to be the bitchy clingy girlfriend that didn't let her man do what he wanted!" She broke off, looking away from him, trying to hold back the tears. "Even though…I did end up that way anyway. Is there just something wrong with me?"

There had to be, right? She was the one always getting dumped, getting left behind, why would it happen unless something was truly wrong with her? All the little ugly insecurities that she pushed down with her self-confidence bubbled up with a vengeance while she waited, agonized, for Yamcha's reply.

He didn't answer at first, his grip squeezed her shoulders before letting go. "Bulma…geez…there's nothing wrong with you, Bulma. You've got feelings. Your feelings mean something, they're not wrong. I mean, okay you've got a temper, and sometimes it seems like you don't have a whole lotta control over them, but they're not _wrong_. I meant what I said, you're a _great_ girl, and you deserve someone who makes you really, truly happy."

"You deserve someone that makes you happy, too, Yamcha…" She crossed her arms in front of her, chancing a look into his earnest eyes. "When you're not training and all, you're a sweet guy." She forced a smile, though much to her chagrin she realized tears streaked down her face no matter how hard she tried to control it. "And you know…someone that wants to settle is best for you," she laughed self-consciously. "I still want that adventurous life."

There was no guarantee Yamcha wouldn't have started being unfaithful in some measure or another, or Bulma for that matter—though she _really_ didn't want to think of herself as that kind of girl. They wouldn't speak it aloud, the truth of the matter that their relationship would have stagnated as time went on and they would have ended up resenting each other.

"Yeah, when I saw you and Vegeta I really knew that it was a dumb idea to suggest we try again," he said as he wiped away her tears.

She froze, blinking up at him. "Wha—?"

He stopped mid-swipe, furrowing his brow in confusion. "…Er, was I wrong? The guy's totally crazy about you, if ya ask me."

"No, Yamcha, he's just crazy in general, and I am too for that matter." Bulma stood back with a huff, eyes already turning to the doorway. "I've gotta go get Raditz and get started on finding Goku."

And that was it. Bulma and Yamcha gave each other one final hug before she left him there in the room at the dining table.

She felt a little better about the conversation than the last time, was _this_ what having a mature conversation was like…?

* * *

 

By the time the _rest_ of Bulma's friends came around, Raditz had not thought of a solution for what he would tell his little brother. He had, however, come to a couple of conclusions in that time: He did not much care for the so-called Turtle Hermit, as he expected he wouldn't. The little shapeshifter, Puar, practically worshiped Yamcha in a way he wasn't sure he admired or was frightened of. Kakarot's fellow training student was all right, not too loud or cheery, kind of a little sneak which he could _definitely_ respect. The pig almost passed his notice until he noticed the damned thing rooting through the doctor's liquor cabinet. Finally, he was _very_ thankful (not that he would say it) for Mosto's memory reading and sharing abilities, it saved a _lot_ of time that would have been otherwise wasted with _talking_ and tedious back and forth.

Yes, the old man reacted strongly at first upon seeing the Namekian but was just as quickly reassured by Bulma that he was a friend. After the memory share he curled into himself, quite similar to a turtle, thinking things that he wasn't ready to share aloud for the moment.

"Gosh, you've all been up to so much since Bulma joined the Patrol," the little cat squeaked from her—his? Apparently his—position on Yamcha's shoulder.

Raditz, having somehow ended up next to Yamcha, heard this directly in his ear and automatically looked at the thing.

Puar looked back with beady but adorable eyes and smiled. "Mr. Raditz, it's nice to meet you!"

He couldn't stop himself from giving an annoyed sigh in response—so polite, of course, all the fucking Earthlings were so _polite_. "Just Raditz is fine," he said, "Us Saiyans don't need formal titles. Um, besides Vegeta anyway."

"Vegeta hasn't said a word since we got here," Puar observed.

"Yeah, he's like that."

"And what about Tarble? If he's Vegeta's brother—"

"Uh, he was…uhhh…"

Tarble came to his rescue in the abrupt awkwardness: "I was banished from the planet when I was small for being weak, effectively relieving me of my title."

"Oh…" the little cat's ears fell, a sad look coming over him. "Well, that's not fair."

"It's what Saiyans do," he replied with a shrug and a careless smile. "I much prefer just being a regular Saiyan, quite honestly."

"So…is Goku a regular Saiyan?" Krillin piped up, turning his attention to Raditz as well. "He's always been a little off, but I figured it was 'cause of him bein' a bumpkin."

The Saiyans that were present—Nappa, Raditz, and Tarble—simultaneously shook their heads. "Saiyans showing kindness is unheard of and completely discouraged," Tarble answered. "I suppose he's 'regular' in that he enjoys fighting and seeks out opponents ceaselessly, but mercy and kindness are concepts not taught to us. It's considered weakness."

"Geez," Krillin puffed, "Tough childhood much?"

"We don't need pity, lil cueball," Nappa interjected. "That's just how it is with Saiyans."

Raditz vaguely mumbled, standing from the couch to find Bulma and check on her progress in finding Kakarot, he really wasn't comfortable with anybody around him. He couldn't even stick by Launch for comfort since she was busying herself with cooking a big lunch for everyone. When had he come to rely on the company of familiar people so much?

"How's it going?" he asked Bulma as he stepped into her workshop.

The predictably cluttered room was lit only by the screens of monitors positioned towards the back, Bulma was sat in the middle of the whole thing, watching the monitors—which seemed to be hooked to cameras in different environments—carefully. She turned back to look at him, a little bleary-eyed from staring at the bright monitors in a dark room. "Hey, I was about to call you! I got a track on Goku, we can head out when you're ready."

"I've _been_ ready for years now, are you kidding?" Raditz found himself laughing, _grinning_ , he was _excited_ despite still not knowing how to talk to Kakarot about the Saiyan transformation. "Ah, where's Vegeta?"

"In his gravity room, he's been waiting for me to introduce him to my best work since he got here, impatient thing." Bulma stretched lazily, standing up with a grace that didn't match with the normally ridiculous Earth woman. She seemed entirely at peace and comfortable on her own planet, in her own lab. "You wanna fly? Goku can't, and I don't feel like wasting my energy doing it right now, so I can drive."

"He _can't_? Sheesh," he sighed, shoulders slumping. "He needs more training. I don't care, we can drive if it's convenient for you."

"You sure?" she asked, canting her head to the door as she pulled out her capsules. "He has the Nimbus so—"

"Bulma," Raditz interrupted her before she could talk herself out of it, "It's _fine_. Don't worry about it. Uh…" he trailed off, falling into step with her. "I was trying to…"

Bulma looked up at him, a question in her eyes before she replied with, "Are you still nervous about meeting Goku?"

The _POP_ of the capsule for her ship kept him from answering for at least a little while longer while he gathered his thoughts. Nervous? Not nervous. At a loss for how to talk about with Kakarot, the only thing they had in common besides their ancestry and parents was…well, Bulma, honestly. Bulma was probably one of the first real friends he had, at least one that genuinely gave a shit about what happened to him and cared about his happiness. Someone that _he_ …cared about.

Actually, he cared about a _lot_ of people now—he even cared about _Vegeta and Nappa_. When did _that_ happen and why? He pondered it as the ship crested over the clouds out of the city, the dome of Capsule Corp. grew smaller and smaller as he watched. "I…need to tell him about the transformation," he finally answered in a soft voice he hardly recognized as his own. "But if he learns that, then his grandfather's death…what if he wants to cut off his tail after that? That's all we have _left_ for our identity, what—"

Bulma's cool, soft touch on his arm interrupted his train of thought. "Raditz—I will _help_ you," she said firmly, eyes twinkling with earnest determination that took him aback. "You don't have to do it alone. And if Goku decides to get rid of his tail, well, that's _his_ decision and we have to respect it."

He did not answer her, too surprised by the _kindness_ to really think of anything relevant.

Bulma turned back to the controls, taking them down across the top of a sea of trees, that same determination set in her jaw.

 _You don't have to do it alone_ , he reflected on those words in awe. _I am not alone._

( _Not anymore._ )

"By the way," Raditz said, tapping his fingers on the armrest. "You and Vegeta made some link, right?"

"Yeeeeah," she drawled, rolling her eyes. "It's not useful at all, believe me. I just have that jerk in my head all the time, can't stop thinking about him."

"I think you not being able to think about anything but him is entirely separate from that, like a brain problem with _you_ ," he chuckled. "I was just wondering…it's faint but sometimes I feel it with Launch, she doesn't feel much herself, though." His psychic abilities clearly weren't as sharp as theirs, not that it bothered him, he believed Bulma in her saying that it was more of an inconvenience. And like Vegeta would _ever_ admit that he was remotely sensitive, even if it was about being psychic.

"I felt it pretty strongly with Goku a couple of years ago."

The ship lurched, jolting Raditz up from his dazed position of looking out the window. "Y-you and Kakarot? Does…Vegeta know that?"

"Why does _Vegeta_ need to know?" Bulma gave him an odd look, shifting the controls to open the landed craft. "It's not like we're married and Goku's my side piece."

What vivid and vulgar imagery, she must have been in a good mood at getting to meet with Kakarot again. Besides, she was right, though it was difficult for him to disentangle the association from his own mind after all those years of hearing the legends it wasn't a _romance_ thing. Or as far as Saiyan romance went. How did _Earthlings_ do romance, anyway? They seemed like soft-hearted individuals, they probably subscribed to that weakness called love.

Bulma jumped out ahead of him while he considered the idea, _how did Earthlings approach this and that?_ Surely not the same way as Saiyans. Surely not even the same _way_ for each of them? They didn't seem to have much in the way of instinct.

"Raditz—wake up!" Bulma's voice scolded him from out of his peripheral. "Come on!"

"Right, right…"

* * *

 

Bulma could tell right away that Goku's journey of training had been arduous, but he didn't appear tired—of course, he was the same energetic kid. It was…unusual seeing him again after all the time she had spent off of Earth, there was still so much to tell him, and she didn't want to overwhelm the little guy, he was a simple kid after all. She didn't even have to call out for him to prompt Goku to perk up and turn around, his round, childish face split into a grin at the sight of her as he sprinted to her side immediately.

"Bulma!" he cried, hopping up to grab at her hands. "Bulma! Bulma! What are you doin' here? How'd you find me?!"

The familiar warmth that came with Goku washed over her as she kneeled to his level, she smiled and did what she had been wanting to for nearly two years at that point—gave the little bumpkin a hug. "You already know I'm a genius, kid, if I want to find something I'm going to go get it."

Goku shifted awkwardly, trying to peer up at her while she ran her fingers through his hair. "What're you doing, Bulma?"

She hummed, not answering for a moment while she pet the boy's hair, then looked over her shoulder to bark out: "Raditz! Get over here!"

"Radish?" Goku mumbled against her shoulder, squirming a little to try and see who she was referring to.

Raditz, for his part, had tried to look normal and calm—wearing pants helped with that a lot, though he was still uncomfortable with Earth clothing no matter how well they fit. He approached carefully, watching them as though they were executioners awaiting him, Bulma tried to smile reassuringly to encourage him. Goku freezing in her arms derailed that train of thought immediately as he pushed away from her and jumped out to face Raditz, his posture was stiff, almost defensive, he edged cautiously forward with a hand to the sheath that contained his Power Pole.

Goku did not strike, however, he raised his nose to the air and sniffed—once, twice, three times. His expression fixed itself into one of confusion and his pace to reach Raditz quickened. "Hey—who are you? Why do you smell like my grandpa?" he asked when he had reached the taller man.

Of course, Goku relied on his sense of smell for everything, more so than his other senses. Bulma had heard him once before commenting on his grandpa's smell—when they had met with him at the old witch's house. Thinking of that time made her abruptly hit upon an idea for approaching him about what happened to Gohan, but…

Raditz crouched down to be at level with the boy, visibly unsure of how to look—welcoming? Cheerful? Annoyed? Saiyans were evidently not the greatest with tense, emotional situations. "What you're smelling is…uh, do you know what familiar means? You recognize the scent of kin, Kakarot."

"Kaka—? Hey, mister, do you need to go to the bathroom?"

He blanched, automatically cuffing Goku on the side of the head. "No, you idiot, that's your name! Kakarot! And I'm your brother, Raditz!"

"I don't have a brother," Goku complained, rubbing his head. "I was an orphan! My grandpa—"

"Found you in the woods when you were a baby, right Goku?" Bulma added, coming up to their sides to watch the brothers. "Remember? I asked you what happened to your parents, and you said you never knew them." She glanced at Raditz, then back to Goku. "He's not lying, Goku. You can smell it for yourself, right? That must be how you identify family."

The boy faltered, looking between Bulma and Raditz, caught between wanting to deny and trusting a close friend. "Bulma…?"

Rather than answer him right away, she pulled her communicator out of her pocket and played the recording of Bardock and Gine's last message to him. He perked up immediately, some faint recognition hidden deep somewhere in his memory through sound though not realizing why. Raditz didn't speak, nor did Bulma, they waited for the message to finish with no reaction until she realized that Goku was beginning to tear up as Gine's voice closed out the message.

 _Don't forget us, Kakarot!_ Gine's cry echoed in her head, a psychic scream from lightyears away reaching through solely from Goku's memory and Bulma's own connection to him. Tears streaked down her cheeks as Goku gasped, trying to stifle his inexplicable sobs.

"Wh-what…?" he gasped, looking helplessly between the two of them. "Why…are you crying, Bulma? Who was that lady? And that man?"

"Our mom and dad," Raditz said softly, reaching out a thumb to brush away his tears. "Even if you don't remember, some part of you deep inside still does, doesn't it?"

She could tell already poor Goku was becoming overwhelmed by the information and emotions therein but was bravely composing himself with deep breaths into a state of acceptance. "There's still a lot more to tell you, kid," she mumbled, ruffling his hair. "But we've gotta get back to my house, everyone's waiting for us there."

"…I believe you," he breathed, eyes closed, hand wrapped almost painfully tight around hers. "If Bulma believes you, I believe you. Can't you call me Goku, though? That's what everyone else calls me…and where are—?"

"They're dead," came the blunt answer. "They died when our planet was destroyed. All right? And I—I _will not_ call you by your Earth name, resent me about it if you want, but I won't call you by a name our parents didn't give you."

"Okay," Goku replied, eyes cast away from the two. "…Bulma, you said everyone's waiting for us? Do you think Master Roshi is gonna be mad that I ended my training early?"

"Trust me, kid, considering what's going on the old man has decided to make an exception."

The trip back was deathly silent, awkwardly tense, Bulma almost wanted to break the silence herself and scold the brothers to goad them into speaking up. Goku shifted in his seat, fiddling with his seatbelt, brows furrowed in deep thought. She wondered if he was remembering the message, trying to compare it to what he knew.

"So, um…" he said when they were halfway through the trip. "Raditz? You and Bulma are friends, right?"

After a moment of hesitance and Raditz's eyes flicking to her as if waiting for confirmation, he answered: "Yes, we met…a long time ago."

"Wow, really?" Goku leaned forward, his eyes lighting up in excitement at the statement. "Tell me how you met!"

"Well…my…friend, Vegeta, agreed to come with me to Earth for retrieving you—"

"Who's Vegeta?" he interrupted. "Is he here too?"

"—Ugh, _yes_ , Kakarot, he is! Let me finish, sheesh!" Raditz growled in exasperation, pushing against Goku's forehead to push him back into his seat. "Anyway, when we landed we were all set to go, and then _Bulma_ showed up. We were about…six? Seven? And she was five. She told us to leave, we said no, then she shot me in the face."

Goku's mouth made a little "o" of surprise before his expression melted into pure delight. "She did that to me, too! When _we_ first met!"

"…Y-yeah…yeah!" Raditz mirrored Goku's grin easily, the two broke into laughs unaware of Bulma rolling her eyes at their brotherly bonding.

_Typical, I tell the guy to find common ground that doesn't involve mass murder and he uses **me** , the things I do for these Saiyans._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder if Mosto has made contact with Kami yet? Maybe we'll find that out next time on OTWT! Maybe we'll actually get somewhere instead of Mozart screwing around with other stuff? (Not likely.)
> 
> Here's my twitter https://twitter.com/MozartEffectAo3 and my tumblr https://mozarteffect.tumblr.com/ for if you wanted to hit me up or watch my ridiculous shitposting procrastination as it escalates!


	21. Only Yourself to Blame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goku confronts some uncomfortable truths about himself, Vegeta makes plans to meet with someone he's far overdue to see. Tyber's life is suffering (as usual.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of quality lately, I'm HOPING after this things will snap back to how they were and, like, plot. There's some plot here but a good chunk of it is character feelings and thoughts. I mean, I was so annoyed by Bulma and Vegeta last chapter I had to do something about that. There's mention/vague description of making out and hinting at sexual topics, but nothing explicit actually happens (or will. In actual text anyway.)
> 
> They're still stupid though. Also I'm not sure how Goku has ended up the most sensible character here but tbh he's the biggest contributor of sense to the chapter.

Vegeta remained shut in the Gravity Room for a good while after the last meeting with the demons, the expansive space became both his prison and paradise in that time. He had practically shoved Bulma out after she demonstrated the various ingenious features of her invention to maximize the time had to make up for her ridiculous display of emotion with the lesser male. She was a funny woman, concerning herself with closure and other peoples' feelings even if they did not deserve the consideration. Concerned with _what does this mean_ and _what does that mean_ and _what do you even want_. It was ridiculous, really. Nobody _asked_ him what he wanted, he had never considered what he wanted so much as what was _expected_ of him. It was strange coming from Bulma, as well, a woman who had always got what she wanted and always knew what she wanted —why the hell should _she_ care?

He would not concern himself with her nonsense, he had made himself clear—he _thought_ , anyway, considering how dense everyone around him was—so he would only think of his training. The beat of his heart, the racing of his blood, the wonderful _strain_ signifying that he was getting ever closer his goal. He only stopped once when Broly knocked at the door asking to be let in—Vegeta noted to himself that Bulma needed to program Broly's handprint into the scanner later. Broly dutifully sparred with him and followed his instructions (more like orders considering how he barked them out) until the boy froze mid-strike, his head craning up to the ceiling.

"Bulma and Raditz have returned, someone is with them," he quietly observed.

Vegeta snapped back to attention, focusing on the energy signals himself. He recognized Bulma and Raditz, the third was similar to Raditz but—"It's weak," he scoffed. He rolled his shoulders, moving himself into the next round of katas. _Weaker than **Raditz** , now that's an accomplishment._ "They must have found Kakarot."

Broly canted his head and had the gall to correct him: "It's Goku."

Vegeta didn't bother responding verbally, only glared at him. He could tell already Broly wanted to go out to meet with the little idiot and dismissed him. After all the time Raditz babbled about Kakarot, after all the _good feelings_ he perceived from Bulma about her beloved _Goku_ , after the other Earthlings—even _demons_ —praised Kakarot as some goddamned hero—he was _sick_ of the little shit.

When he left the room to seek out nourishment, he heard snatches of conversation between Tyber and his family—"the danger is more than we expected, you need to go back."

"Aw, Dad, do we _have_ to?"

 _Blah, blah, **blah.**_ Nothing _Vegeta_ cared about, if his family was being sent away then Tyber was only proving further sentimental (thankfully) didn't mean _stupid_. As long as he didn't include Broly and Tarble in the command, _then_ Vegeta would have to show the second class his place again.

"Besides, if that old man put hands on you, I don't know if I would be able to keep myself from committing a felony," he heard the officer mutter in aside most likely to his wife, prompting a smirk from Vegeta. Even _Officer Just and Fair_ couldn't tamp down the Saiyan instincts of being territorial.

"Aye, it only makes sense, tho'—we're not Patrollers, t'was only our job to pilot the ship," he heard the Heran _who never wore a goddamned shirt_ comment.

It was then Vegeta realized he had paused in the hall to listen more to the discussion since Tyber mentioned killing. He snorted, shaking his head to get his thinking back in proper order.

Any hope of that went out the airlock (or…window since he was no longer in space?) when he entered the kitchen and found Bulma's _mother_ skipping around putting together food. He hoped she wouldn't notice him but hope as usual was for nothing as she turned back –permanently closed eyes inexplicably _piercing_ him with their gaze.

"Oh, Vegeta darling!" she trilled, looking _far too delighted_ to have a mass murderer in her kitchen.

Great, he had only wanted a quick lunch before resuming training, but now she was going to pull him into _conversation_. He nodded at her various questions, offering only a grunt in return, that seemed to be enough for her to pile food in front of him—the woman was apparently _superb_ at multitasking.

"You know that little Goku has come over?" Panchy _leaned too damn close_ into his personal space (explains where Bulma got it from) to ask. "It's so nice to have a full house! And he's found out that he has such a handsome big brother!"

Though it was none of his business and he _really_ didn't care, Vegeta found that keeping an ear open about the discussion going on between the Earthlings in the next room was a whole lot better than listening to Mrs. Briefs' prattling. The lecherous old man related the tale of how his master had perished sealing away the "demon king" while the others deliberated about what to do. Kakarot was strangely quiet, possibly still processing all the memories he was shown—not to mention his true ancestry. Raditz wasn't present, he had left early on saying he wanted to give Kakarot some space before going further.

It was wholly unnecessary in Vegeta's mind, the insistence on being _considerate_ wearing on his already battered patience. What was it about Earth that made everyone such _idiots_? Of course, Nappa and Raditz were _already_ idiots but between Nappa relating old stories from before King Vegeta was coronated and they were younger to Bulma's parents and Raditz devoting more thought than necessary to _Kakarot_ Vegeta was quite sick of it.

Even later when night fell and he joined Bulma in her room, there was only _more_ idiocy waiting for him. Bulma was quiet at first, turned with her back towards him, which was _fine_ as Vegeta was content with simply coming to her room and going to sleep. But no, she had to turn to him and _ask_ about the nature of their last discussion.

"Wha—are you _dense_?" Vegeta groused at her. "If anything, _you're_ the one being unclear—with this talk of _casual_ and your questions!"

Why did the truth of the matter elude her? They were close, they were adults with a level of respect and attraction, from his understanding _that_ was preferable for that sort of thing, but _she_ was acting like he was playing games. She was acting like it was solely about his own boundaries and pretending there wasn't _something_ going on in her head that was frightening her away.

"I'm…I'm human," Bulma managed, staring up at him with wide eyes not dissimilar to a creature facing something much larger than it is.

"Yes, that's one of your many flaws," he huffed, turning onto his back, arms crossed. "Is this about you supposedly being easy again? I don't see what's so _easy_ about admitting something as undignified as what I did the other night."

He thought she wanted more, too, was he wrong? Had he miscalculated? Come to think of it, she hadn't treated him the same way as other males had been with her heavy flirting, was that significant? Was it some fear he wasn't privy to? Had he missed some Earth ritual? Was she not actually _interested_? How could she _not_ be?

Bulma fidgeted, laying her hand on his shoulder, and mumbled: "I've never even seen a guy naked before."

Oh. So, she was inexperienced. What did that matter? He had seen aliens of a variety of different genders nude, but there was nothing very special about it, they were dead or being tortured anyway by other Frieza Force soldiers. He supposed saying anything about _that_ topic wouldn't offer any comfort to Bulma.

"…And?"

Was that something she was ashamed of?

…Ohhhh no, no no no _no_ —they were _not_ going to get caught up in distracting _insecurities_ again—"Bulma, I have made my thoughts known and given my consent. If you're—"

"I'm worried it's this—this—this thing _here_ —" She waved at the space between their chests—"And not _real_! _Of course_ I consent, I've been low-key into you since that time Jaco and I stumbled like _idiots_ into your mission! But _you—you—_ " Her face flushed, frustration seizing her body and shaking her uncontrollably.

"…Okay," Vegeta said, blinking at her outburst, thoroughly confused and trying to understand what the sequence of words even _meant_. "I've been having dreams about you since I was a teenager, Bulma, before either of us even knew each other's _names_. Before the…the _bond_ even made itself properly known. I don't understand, is this some imagined inadequacy? Anxiety? Do I have to say something redundant like 'you're a great person'? Because you know that's not something I would say at _all_."

Honestly, it was a side of Bulma he had never seen before, and he was quite alarmed by it.

"No," Bulma scoffed, resting her head onto his shoulder. "I don't need you to tell me that, I _know_ I'm great. I don't need you to tell me nice things at all. I don't _need_ some man's approval. I guess…" Her eyes watched him for a moment before flicking up to the ceiling.

Vegeta had a feeling he knew what she was getting at but waited for her to elaborate—no shortcuts this time, she would have to face her fears the old-fashioned way.

"…I still think about it, how people don't see me for _me_."

And there it was, the old humiliation of being _used_ , a feeling they shared. Being "easy" was only jargon for "I will not let you use me as a convenience." It made sense now, why she insisted on _casual_ , why she balked at even speaking of _more_ when it came down to it—hell, she assumed _he_ would never bring it up, let alone believe it was a matter of when. This mingled with lingering hormones and a stressful job that she threw her whole self into amid _not minding her own damn business_ made for a disastrous combination. Evidently, he was witnessing what would happen when a shameless woman barely out of her teens was forced to mature abruptly and unused to people being clear and straightforward about what they want.

"I'm not good at things like this," he mumbled, turning to meet her gaze finally, resting their foreheads together. "At…feelings. I thought being clear would help, but then this talk of being casual started—and no feelings? You're making this more complicated than it needs to be."

" _You're_ the one that hasn't kissed me yet," she chuffed back, rolling her eyes. "Back when I was younger, I'd get called a tease for flirting so much. But I can't act like that with _you_ , it doesn't feel _right._ Cripes, I _wish_ I still acted like when I was a kid, this would be a whole lot less complicated, I'd just go 'hey cutie did you know I'm a 34 C'? No, now I'm just thinking about _freaky magical strings_ and being afraid of you leaving me!"

What the hell was a 34 C? She was still talking, going over hypothetical scenarios for if they had met earlier in their lives, though all _he_ could think was that him as a teenager with a surge of uncontrollable hormones and rage would kill her. (And that she was silly for _still_ thinking they would permanently part ways, since he was taking her wherever he went next after Frieza _no question_.) It was going on for a while now, and he was only becoming more confused, so if it was the fact that he _hadn't_ kissed her yet that bothered her…

_Oh, well. Fine then._

It wasn't the most graceful of moves, it was hardly even what he understood to be a kiss so much as smashing his face against hers whilst she _kept talking_. It was almost a headbutt like he would do in battle, really. He was pretty sure he bumped noses with her clumsily. Her muffled squeak of surprise was swallowed up when he tilted his head to properly do the thing that had relentlessly hounded him—of all things—since the Ginyu Incident. If contact that didn't hurt or cause pain felt too good to be true, kissing absolutely _couldn't_ be something that was real, it sent tingles of what he understood to be joy and warmth through him that almost resembled the feeling of ki circulating in his blood. It took every ounce of his discipline and practiced self-denial to pull back first, noting that her face had flushed and her breathing increased.

Then her eyes fluttered open, staring at him in surprise, lips parted. "Holy shit," she breathed. "You're not half-bad at that."

"Not half-bad?" he echoed, smirking, internally relieved that somehow mashing their faces together didn't end in disaster. "I pride myself on my ability to learn quickly. We'll have to fix that."

As in immediately, Vegeta wasn't going to just leave it at _one_ kiss, not after all that time spent being tortured by involuntary and humiliating _thoughts_ about it.

Now being aware and finally letting go of her hang-ups, Bulma took the lead the second time. They moved slowly, carefully, learning the other and studying how best to make it feel good for their partner. And it was _good_ , how in the hell did something like touching lips and eventually tongues feel so _good_?

His tail circled her waist to pull Bulma in closer, his hands rested on the small of her back while she scraped her nails up and down through his hair. It surprised him when she _tugged_ his hair to pull them apart and mouth at his neck. Surprised, not upset, it was _enjoyable_ and the groan that came from him then hardly sounded like himself.

"Vegeta…" she sighed before he felt a tug on his earlobe with her teeth.

That was where it all went to shit immediately.

Vegeta didn't know if it was her teeth, her warmth pressed against him, or the breathless moan of his name that set it off, but he pulled away faster than could be perceived by the woman to sit at the edge of her bed and try to catch his breath. "…Fuck."

Bulma giggled from behind him, crawling up to his side to sit next to him. "Guess you weren't as ready as you said, huh homeboy?" she teased, eyes drifting to the _last_ place he wanted her to look.

It seemed their kissing session restored that lewd confidence of hers—strange for someone who didn't need the approval of men he snidely remarked back at her for lack of any real response to such a _foreign_ thing.

"Hey, buddy, say something like that again and no more kissing." She pushed his shoulder, not able to move him even slightly (of course). Bulma didn't look _angry_ , however, she was smiling at him gently, cheeks red, eyes sparkling. "It was nice…I felt really special being held by you. I can't explain it."

He felt special, too. Not that he would tell her that, he merely nodded and grunted.

"It's okay that you're not ready right now," Bulma assured him. "You're not used to it still, don't think about it so hard, huh?"

"How did this change from _you_ to me so quickly?" Vegeta sighed, exasperated by the turnaround.

"I've been…" she trailed off, her gaze turning to the window, to the world outside where things were so chaotic. "…Stressed."

He nodded—of course she has! "You take on too much."

At least she acknowledged it, strange that none of her stress fed into him despite their link. He "radiated" stress as the old bird had told him, and Bulma felt it too, but _she_ —she composed herself easily. (Well, perhaps not all _that_ easily since she internalized her stress only to combust later.)

"I _have_ to," she answered with feeling. "I have to. And I have to act like nothing bothers me. I'm _Bulma fucking Briefs_ , you know? Heiress to Capsule Corp. People already don't take me seriously because I'm a woman, if I flew off the handle at every little thing around people I don't know I'd just be called…hysterical."

Hysterical? Oh, he remembered, that was true—Bulma was treated differently among her peers not just for her status, but their inexplicable fixation on her gender.

Vegeta considered his next actions carefully, watching her practically glow in the starlight as they sat on her bed together. "The Ginyu Incident…I was 14," he said after a moment of contemplation before finally thinking _fuck it, **she's** shared enough with me_. "Perhaps 15, I can't be sure. The pretentious _freaks_ sat me down with Raditz and declared they were going to teach us how to be 'real' men."

To Bulma's credit, she didn't interrupt whether by laughing or expressing sympathy and allowed him to go through the whole miserable story.

"…And of course, the freaks didn't just have videos of their _own_ disgusting species, no no, of _course_ they had interspecies pornography!" he ended up ranting about the gritty details. "There were—were—too many _appendages_ , like _worms_." He shuddered, noticing that Bulma had taken hold of his hand in the meantime as he recalled the vile images. " _Nothing_ similar to Saiyan anatomy whatsoever. They only thing they _did_ , sometimes, that looked remotely like something _I_ could replicate was…kissing. I had Raditz ask Nappa what it was after he recovered from his little _fainting spell_ and put a name to it."

"Bet Nappa was disappointed you-I-mean-Raditz asked about that instead of anything else."

Vegeta grimaced, remembering how the old man took matters into his own hands and was _shameless_ about his knowledge of other species. "I ignored it, of course, but he's…tried to give verbal descriptions as lessons."

"Yikes," Bulma clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "And you've never approached a girl that way, huh? No wonder, my dad just kept his dirty magazines out in the open, but _that_." She paused, leaning forward to get a better look at him.

He didn't know what his expression looked like then but was determined to not make eye contact for the last part of sharing humiliating stories hour. Mercifully, talking of the horrible Ginyu Incident…cooled down his body back into neutral, any thoughts of desire or sensory overload were completely gone. Vegeta took a deep breath before continuing to the undignified conclusion: "I couldn't relate to what I saw. It did not invoke anything but disgust in me. Yet my mind went back to kissing, over and over. It went back to the _one_ alien female I had seen that looked anything like a Saiyan. I began to see that violent girl in my dreams."

An image of a small girl with blue hair styled into pigtails came to mind, came to Bulma's mind as well judging by her eyes widening as she stared as something unseen in front of her. The girl pointed her gun and sneered: _"I told you to **leave** , alien scum!" _

Then…abruptly, she changed. The shape of her body shifted, her limbs lengthened, her hair loosened from the pigtails except for a smaller side tail, her outfit changed to an off the shoulders sweater and short skirt—it was the spitting image of Bulma Briefs at 14.

"Holy crap!" the Bulma of the present exclaimed. "How—? I wore that on my first day of _high school_ , how did you—?!"

"I _don't know_ ," Vegeta cut in, shaking his head, causing the image to fade. "She followed me for _years_ during my maturation. It only stopped when I had finally learned how to exert complete control over myself."

So that was it. The whole truth about his impression and experience—or lack thereof—with sex.

"Then you being upfront about it—"

"I might have miscalculated, slightly."

He might have been annoyed at her for assuming he would _never_ broach such a topic and took it as a challenge. He might have been trying to regain some sense of control in a thing he didn't entirely understand and feel powerful again over someone who had given him more than he expected. He might have been overconfident that he could handle _whatever_ stages of closeness Bulma wanted but was too damn _considerate_ to ask of him. He might have been trying to express that he _was_ interested, and he trusted her enough to share that.

Not that he would tell her any of that, it was only a miscalculation.

He didn't know what prompted her, exactly, but when she leaned into him then he did not resist as she gave him a soft, languid kiss that provoked the same feelings of warmth but less of the urgent excitement.

"Thank you," Bulma whispered against his lips when they parted. "I think…I really needed that. Would you want to try that again sometime?"

"You feel the need to _ask_?" he scoffed, staring at her from the corners of his eyes in a show of haughtiness.

Well, she didn't _need_ to but if Vegeta was inclined to be honest with himself he genuinely didn't know what to make of her clearly defining that he had a choice. The consideration of his boundaries was truly perplexing in an already confusing topic he was _barely_ managing with a lot of bluff. "Don't go complicating this with labels, though. Last time you did—" He wouldn't acknowledge that he contributed to the confusion himself by outright asking if she viewed him as her boyfriend. "—Things went to shit quickly, as you remember."

"Oh come _on_ , like you—" She broke off with a sigh, rolling her eyes. "No…I like being with you. Just with you. I only want that—no titles, no telling people…"

"Nobody's business but ours," he agreed. This belonged to him, to her, to _them_ alone. Nothing outside the walls of her room was necessary. It would stay _private_. At least they understood now and wouldn't further complicate things.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not, since this was the aggravating Earth woman he was dealing with who pressed a kiss to his temple then and whispered in his ear: "Only you and me, my prince."

He bristled. His stomach turned over. It wasn't disgust, it was the same thrill that came from kissing or the times when Bulma would act admirably. It was…pleasant.

"Go to sleep," he grunted back, thoroughly annihilating the moment by standing up from the bed and fleeing like the coward he knew himself to be. "I'm going to train."

 

* * *

 

For as long as Mosto lived, he had never expected he would encounter a fellow Namekian on such a faraway planet, let alone one that had struggled with a corrupted heart. However, as he pursued contact with the reclusive Kami and began to exchange memories with him he _understood_ Piccolo's creation. Emphasis, of course, on him _understanding_ , not condoning—Piccolo was not simply born from Kami's fears of his own dark thoughts, he was a product of _anger_ and _disgust_ the nameless Namekian felt towards humanity. Yet this brother understood evil wasn't all there was to humanity, regarded Earth as his home and wanted to guard over it.

 _You should not have split yourself, brother,_ he chided for perhaps the hundredth time. _If you were patient, you could have excised those feelings of hatred through a spiritual journey._

 _I was desperate, and the current Guardian was approaching the end of his life, I feared the consequences of allowing the Earth to be without a Guardian even for a moment,_ Kami patiently replied.

Mosto considered the words, the former Guardian sensed the darkness within the nameless one and rejected his plea to take over the position. That much was true, however—was his permission or appointment _really_ necessary?

 _I was young and impatient,_ Kami chuckled. _I wished for nothing more than to free myself of the darkness immediately. But now…_ He trailed off, asking then for Mosto to speak of his experiences on their origin planet, as a Patroller, and of course the spunky young Earthlings driven to protect their home.

His meditation lasted for hours as he shared all of what he knew. _I know Bulma is not the most reverent or pure of heart, but she is a brave and determined young woman that wants to do good. This Son Goku appears to have a positive influence on her, while she tempers his wilder nature._

_From what you have told me, and what I have observed, Son Goku is an abnormality, being so pure-hearted despite the circumstances he came from. Perhaps he could be my successor._

_Ahhh, that is unlikely, brother, Saiyans are focused on fighting and growing stronger, though he is noble and kind he will always seek his next greatest fight first. He would not commit himself to be a Guardian._

He supposed that was selfish of the young one, however would he learn to put other's needs before his desires should he continue in this way? Nonetheless, both knew that being pressured into such a position would not teach him consideration.

 _Namek is beautiful. These wish spheres your Elder made…_ Kami began. _It explains so much about my feeling of nostalgia from when I created the Dragon Balls._

 _Oh yes, even if you do not remember Namek, the wish spheres of Earth are proof enough._ Mosto released a breath, concentrating on his connection with Kami with all of his might, it was a strain on his mind in all truth. The place where Kami resided was high up in the clouds guarded by a veil of magic. Usually, Kami told him, no flying vehicles would be able to reach the Lookout, those who would seek his wisdom had to climb beyond the tower that served as the first trial.

 _Son Goku already completed training with Korin,_ Kami explained. _However…there is still one more task from Korin. One no mortal has survived._

_I see, a trial of life or death. That is…?_

_Drinking the Ultra Divine Water. Mosto, Piccolo has not been released yet, but it is only a matter of time. It's unorthodox, but I wish for you to bring me the warriors of Earth. I will speak to them about a strategy myself._

Mosto acquiesced to his request only to pause when he felt the presence of another coming to him with uncertain steps in the chilly morning air. He bid Kami farewell for the moment and turned his attention to whomever was approaching. "Ah…good morning, Goku. How might I help?"

* * *

 

Son Goku had lived a peaceful life until a very loud and silly girl crashed into his world (literally and figuratively, he would note if he knew either of those words). From there he had gotten a taste of adventure and began to explore the suddenly much _wider_ version of his world. He thought (but was not cynical or weary enough to chastise himself for thinking so) that nothing else could turn things over. He could just seek out a good fight whenever he wanted.

When Bulma returned to him—a surprise, as he thought he would be the one seeking her out _again_ —the girl was unusually quiet and not acting silly. Bulma had approached Goku with strong steps, her presence had somehow become…charged, like mornings when he would wake up with his hair feeling prickly. Her scent gained flavors of stress, determination, and sadness. She smiled at him and Goku smelled salt, she kneeled to hold him in her arms and he felt loneliness, crushing sorrow, compassion—he recognized the compassion (and he knew the word) of course, beneath Bulma's loud and bratty exterior she had a warm heart.

Something still felt…wrong about it. She was so _sad_ , for what? Why? The way she held him and ran her fingers through his hair wasn't something Goku liked but tolerated as he sensed somehow Bulma _needed_ to do this, and he would let her because he didn't want her to be sad.

She called over her shoulder a word he thought he recognized, Radish? Had Bulma brought food? He _was_ getting hungry. But the appearance of a very tall, very _strong_ man stopped any thoughts of food in a heartbeat. It was the hair Goku noticed first, a long mane of wild black hair—even longer than Yamcha's! The thought to ask how he sat on a toilet with that hair occurred to him to blurt out until the smell hit him. Not _a_ smell, _the_ smell, that familiar nostalgic scent that he always associated with his grandpa interlaced with something wild and a tang of metal at the back of his throat. He was caught between wanting to determine if the man was a threat to Bulma—as she always seemed to find trouble—and relieving his curiosity about the familiar scent.

Bulma expressed no fear of the man, though, perhaps he was the "Radish" she called for, so Goku asked bluntly why Radish smelled like his Grandpa. In any other person besides Son Goku, the reaction of "I shouldn't have asked" would occur.

The man answered that the scent was familiar to Goku because his nose recognized "kin" (a word Goku wasn't entirely clear on the meaning of but seemed very important) and called him "Kaka-route."

Kakarot?

Raditz?

They were brothers?

No, Goku argued, realizing to his surprise that Raditz (not Radish) had something around his waist that looked and smelled equally familiar, he was Goku and he had no living relatives.

Bulma, whom he trusted the most out of anybody currently present, vouched for the man and played…something. Some recording of voices from one of her sciencical things. He had already encountered television and radio, so he did not allow himself to get caught up in the how or why he was hearing voices and listened.

It felt like something squeezed his insides as he listened to the voices of two people speaking to "Kakarot"—they were sending him away for his safety, but they would come back for him ( _but you didn't! You didn't!_ ) he didn't _know_ these people, he could swear, he had _no_ memory of Kakarot or Raditz or—or the warm affection of the woman, her voice cracking with held back tears. Or the deep, comforting voice of the man, a _strong_ man, determined to do something good. They _also_ warned "Kakarot" not to look at the full moon. _Why…?_

He smelled salt again, his vision wobbled, he was crying _then_ too—the image of two people peering at him through a red-tinted window, their hands pressed against it like wanting to reach out to him, flashed into his head. He pressed his hand against the man's through the barrier. He wanted to _stay_ —he wanted—

Bulma was crying.

Oh no, oh no, Goku didn't want _that_ , he wanted her to feel better—whatever was making her sad, he wanted her to smile. She seemed _so_ unhappy, _so_ tired, what _happened_ Goku wanted to ask but instead blurted out something about the people on the device.

Mom and Dad, Raditz answered in a sincere tone.

Mom and Dad. His? Goku's?

Theirs?

He could see the thing around his waist now, a tail, _he_ had a tail too. But Bulma said _humans_ didn't _have_ tails—how—? He felt himself beginning to lose his cool, his sense of self—Goku took a deep breath, settling his thoughts into peace again. Meditation to re-sort his thoughts would be needed judging by Bulma's decree that "a lot" had happened since he went on his journey.

For the moment, Goku accepted what was said as truth even while part of him continued to scream denials—Bulma believed in this Raditz, and she would not lie to him. She was selfish at times—but everyone could be—yet Bulma was kind and she _cared_ a whole lot. Bulma cared about him as Goku cared about her.

…Raditz looked very…sad speaking about their parents, he missed them, he missed the "planet" that was mentioned. Goku understood the sentiment, he often found himself missing his grandpa despite knowing _now_ Gohan was very proud and pleased with how he had grown. He wasn't mad at the boy. He wasn't entirely certain why it was so _important_ that Grandpa wasn't mad. To take his mind off the bittersweet things, Goku asked how Raditz had met Bulma.

Much to his surprise, it was not Raditz's first time on Earth looking for his brother. Long ago, long before even _Goku_ met Bulma, the younger Raditz and his friend ended up on the wrong end of her gun. It sounded too amazing to be true! They had met Bulma in _identical_ ways! He couldn't help but laugh and _thank goodness_ that seemed to loosen up Raditz too since he smiled back at him.

 _"But if you left Earth after that,"_ the inevitable follow-up question came from Goku's endless curiosity, _"How did you meet again?"_

Raditz fell silent at that time, Bulma picked up the slack by beginning to explain what she had been doing the past two years. Goku still regarded the idea of him having been born on another planet with the distant unfamiliarity of someone looking into a snow globe but listened to her with an open mind as she explained the Galactic Patrol. Strangely, as she spoke he began to visualize scenes that appeared dreamlike, hazy and unreal but confirming what she told him and more.

 _"You went to stop bad people in space?"_ he concluded. _"Like Monster Carrot and—"_ Goku frowned, something _cold_ haunted both his friend and his so-called brother. _"Freezer?"_

What a silly name. Neither of the older ones looked very amused, though. Bulma's grip on the steering wheel had tightened, he heard creaking—he learned even if she continued to insist she wasn't a "brawler" she had been training and growing stronger. He was so, so proud of what she accomplished and was eager to have a spar with his friend, but the way Bulma looked was…nothing he had seen before. Afraid, yes, angry, of course, and the third emotion…he could only identify it as pure _hatred_.

Whoever Freezer was, if Bulma looked like that while talking of him he must have been a _very_ bad person.

A bad person that hurt a lot of people, that wanted to hurt _Bulma_ though Goku would _never_ let a bad guy hurt his precious friend. She passed it off with a shrug, the point was that she had joined the "Patrol" and from there met up with Raditz and his friend again, though they didn't remember each other at first. Goku was happy to know that Bulma had made lots of friends—and that he was going to meet them—in addition to her getting stronger.

Something continued to nag at him about _what_ was being left out, besides Freezer there had to be much more trouble in space, right?

 _"Goku…"_ Bulma said in a faraway tone as she pulled the ship to a stop in front of her home. Before he could answer back, she stood, approaching where he sat and kneeling before him with an expression he could only describe as her losing something very important.

He didn't like seeing that look on a friend, if she had lost something why didn't she ask him to get it back for her? She knew that he would always help her, didn't she?

_"Goku, do you remember your grandpa and your parents telling you not to look at the full moon for too long?"_

Of course, inexplicably he thought of how relieved he was his grandpa wasn't mad, much to his confusion. Son Goku was not a cowardly person or one to be dishonest, or _want_ lies instead of truth, though as Bulma continued he wanted what she was telling him to _be_ a lie. What he and Raditz were, their tails triggered a beastly transformation should they gaze upon the full moon.

 _He_ was the monster that came out during the full moon, _he_ killed his grandpa, _he_ destroyed, _he_ hurt his friends, so much, _too much—_

Goku furiously shook his head, fighting tears. _I'm sorry, Grandpa!_ his thoughts cried out. How could Grandpa _not_ be mad at him for what he—?

Bulma pressed her forehead against his, a gesture entirely new between them yet…he didn't dislike it. He felt at peace with the touch, the warm memories of meeting Gohan again bubbling up from the confused mess of his mind as if they were coming from Bulma _herself_ , like they were _sharing_ them. Was that even possible?

 _"Kakarot…"_ Raditz's voice broke him from the meditative feeling. _"It's true that we transform, we either avoid making eye contact with the full moon entirely or…"_ He looked pained by whatever he was thinking, Bulma broke contact with Goku to look up at him, nodding. _"…We can remove our tails."_

Oh, now _there_ was an idea, wasn't there?

Goku had grown to accept life without a tail before it grew back, and he had been working on it being a weakness (not that he was going to tell anyone, it would be a surprise) but he felt _better_ when he had his tail. He felt _whole_. He didn't _want_ to rid himself of it even _if_ that would be for the better.

Raditz seemed to not enjoy the idea either as he went on, confessing that the remaining Saiyans would sometimes be bullied about their tails, sometimes by Freezer himself, calling them stupid monkeys and threatening to rid them of their tails _permanently_ should they upset him. _"But it's…the last thing we **have** as part of our identity. Actually **have** , not just theoretically like pride and willingness to fight,"_ Raditz's voice had become strained, though he wasn't tearing up at all Goku smelled salt again amid fear. He was truly afraid of Freezer as well as losing his identity as a Saiyan.

A thought Goku could sympathize with easily, of course, there _he_ was losing his semblance of identity as an _Earthling_.

 _"…But,"_ Bulma prompted Raditz with a meaningful look.

He sighed, _"It's…it's your choice, Kakarot. Wh-whether you want to keep your tail or not. B-but if you **do** keep it, I can teach you to control yourself in that state! Just—just think about that."_

Honestly, he _did_ want to keep his tail, though he still didn't like being called Kakarot much or the implications behind it. He mumbled that he needed to think about it, pulling himself back into his deep breathing state. It was…too much, too much for someone who lived a simple life, at the same time there was something exciting about it, something that set his blood to _boil_. Were there a lot of strong people to fight in space? Raditz seemed strong, maybe he would want to train with him, maybe he had techniques to teach him!

 _Grandpa,_ he resolved to himself, _I'll make up for what I did. I know now, I was born a Saiyan, but I live on Earth. Earth is my **home**._

He wondered if perhaps Raditz wanted to make Earth his home too since he didn't have one. Goku wouldn't have minded if he stayed, if he didn't cause trouble. Raditz was vague about it, however Goku got the idea that Saiyans did some bad things to get the fights they wanted. So he must have done some bad things himself even if he didn't want to talk about it.

 _"Raditz?"_ Goku asked him when they entered Capsule Corp. with Bulma leading the way. _"Your… **our** parents, what were their names? What were they like?"_

The older Saiyan stopped in his tracks, Bulma's steps faltered for a moment until she continued forward without looking back. He alternated between clenching and unclenching his hands while they stood in the empty hall together, it occurred to Goku a little late that it must have been difficult, maybe Raditz was still grieving.

_"Bardock is—was our dad, Gine was our mom. They were…well, to other higher class Saiyans—"_

(Goku didn't know what very high classrooms had to do with this.)

_"—They were anomalies. Dad was strong, so was Mom it was just…she didn't like fighting much. She had a gentle heart. …You look like our dad, but you remind me more of Mom, honestly."_

Their mom didn't like fighting, their dad protected her, they lived in a place where "sentiment" as Raditz called it was not really allowed to be shown and pairing off in the way they did was _very_ rare. Even if their parents cared a lot about each other they couldn't _say_ anything.

 _"Well, that's not fair,"_ Goku commented. _"What's wrong with that?"_

 _"It's showing weakness,"_ he insisted. _"Dad was respected by everyone in the third class, though. Nobody said shit to him."_

Not a lot of what Raditz said made sense. Goku figured he would understand later.

Later…he thought later would make more sense, later when he met one of Bulma's mentors and received the rest of the news.

Later things did _not_ make more sense.

Goku found himself seeking out that same person, Mosto. He needed…help with processing it, though he didn't know how exactly to ask for this sort of help.

Mosto seemed to understand anyway as he shifted to face Goku with his hands held out. "May I?"

The boy nodded in return, he knew what was coming though he was finding that having his hair touched gave him a squirmy feeling he didn't like.

 _Don't fret, Goku,_ Mosto's voice echoed calmly all around him as they both slipped into darkness. _I am aware of the importance a Saiyan's hair holds to them._

 _Important?_ Goku replied. _I dunno about **important** , I just don't like it when people touch it._

The green one chuckled, his form appearing before Goku's eyes fully illuminated despite the pitch black around them. _I mean it's sensitive, and a signifier of a Saiyan's lineage._

_…What?_

_…Other Saiyans can tell what family or class you come from by looking at it._

**_Class_ ** _again? Why do people keep bringin' up school? Will I have to read? I don't like readin'!_

Mosto _laughed_ , which perplexed the young Saiyan as usually people would start yelling at him about not understanding something at that point. The Namekian—as that was what Bulma called him—carefully explained then that Saiyan society was divided by level of power and position of birth in a smaller way. _The lowest are third class, which you and your family come from, in the middle but not strong enough to be elite is the second class. You met Tyber—err, however briefly before he had to get back to work—he and his…family came from that class. Elite class is for the strongest, the nobility effectively._

Nobility, that was a word Goku recognized, or he attempted to put it into context for his own understanding: _Like princes and stuff?_

_Yes, the Royal Family of planet Vegeta stood as the **elite** of the elite, non-royal elites like Nappa—_

_The big bald guy?_

_Yes, him._ Usually someone would be yelling at him to stop interrupting with questions at this point, apparently Mosto was not that way. _They served directly under royalty._

That was clear enough, he understood now that by default he and Raditz were considered the weakest while Raditz's friends were considered strongest. _Well,_ he replied, planting his hands on his hips in his usual straightforward manner, _I don't believe in stuff like that! If ya work hard enough, even a little shrimp like me could take down a big ol' elite!_

The answering expression from Mosto was a welcoming smile, warm and gentle, it gave Goku a fluffy feeling of comfort that what he said was all right to think and he wouldn't have to argue about it. He didn't like arguing, anyway, it made his head hurt.

_I believe you will overcome all your obstacles with that attitude, Son Goku._

But they were getting off topic, Goku asked—carefully—for Mosto to give him the information again. He began with sharing the memories of when Bulma met Jaco, then Raditz and Vegeta. _Raditz acts like quite the tough customer,_ the Namekian observed. _He and Vegeta pretended the news of their planet's destruction didn't bother them. But Nappa knew better._

Of course, Goku agreed, who would actually just…not _care_ about losing their home? Their whole family? He was new to having a family himself, he only had the memories of his grandpa and the feelings of affection towards his friends, but…

 _I cannot tell you what happened to them after they fled from Bulma. Nor can I tell you what was going through their minds at that time. Saiyans are…complicated with emotions,_ he continued though Goku wasn't interested in asking about that.

After that memory faded, Mosto walked him through the memory of Bulma joining the Galactic Patrol. _I wonder why Bulma never told me she had a sister?_ It perplexed him that such a thing never came up in their time together, now he knew that he had an older brother and she had an older sister. He pondered if Bulma was hiding more things from him, or any of his other friends considering the surprise from Launch. Why didn't _she_ say anything about it? Did she not think he was capable of keeping a secret? He figured the pang he felt was some sadness that his friends didn't feel secure enough in sharing everything with him.

He paused. He watched Tyber and Mosto argue in the memory. It was silly, they were really underestimating Bulma.

 _Oh yes, things started off rough,_ Mosto agreed, moving Goku to guide him through the memories of Bulma's training. The boy balked once, pulling back against the Namekian when he saw Tyber kick Bulma in the stomach. He knew she was training, he knew she was trying to make herself stronger, but seeing her harmed and crying out in pain tripped a reaction of fierce protectiveness. _You cannot do anything about it now, it is only a memory,_ he was reminded.

He _knew_ , but…

_Come now, we must continue._

Goku tried to take his focus off the not unfamiliar but unpracticed feeling of _anger_ at a friend being harmed, the blistering rage under his skin that coursed through his muscles and prompted him to _fight_. To _destroy._ _He hurt her he needs to **die die die** —_

Breathe. He engrossed himself in his breathing. Setting his mind back into peace. _It's okay, it's okay, it's okay._

 _So the Galactic Patrol stops bad guys,_ he began to put the pieces of the puzzle in his mind together to further take his fixation _away_ from intentionally killing as they traversed the memories. _And Freezer takes planets and sells them after killing the people there…doesn't that make him a bad guy?_

**_Frieza_ ** _is pure evil, yes._

_Then why—?_

Mosto turned back to stare at Goku, the vivid and horrible vision of the Galaxy King and some Patrollers going against Freezer only to be ruthlessly struck down came to mind. _Frieza,_ Mosto corrected though Goku was stiff in shock at the sight. _In any case, we are not strong enough. No one is strong enough._ He put a hand to Goku's shoulder, directing him forward.

It became easier to digest as they went. The only thing that remained cloudy was anything about this…Vegeta person, especially when Bulma was involved. Mosto explained that he had a closed mind and was in-screw-ta-bull (it was not a word Goku knew but it sounded like someone stubborn for no reason). Something else, the "Turles" mission, Mosto shared _no_ memories about that except it was why they were on Earth.

And now…Piccolo.

_I think I get it now. So Piccolo and Garlic Jr. are the next bad guys—and Kami wants to meet us?_

"Yes," Mosto's _voice_ awoke him from the trance of the memory dive, back in the yard where they sat across from each other. "He wants to meet with the warriors of Earth, you especially since you completed one half of Korin's training."

 _One half._ That meant there was more! More things for him to learn! More strong people to fight! Goku wagged his tail back and forth at the exciting thought, then fell slack when he remembered. His _tail_ , it caused so much trouble and—"Mosto? Can you contact old lady Baba?"

However, Son Goku was not the type to mope about and not _do_ anything, he promised himself he would make things right, now he was going to tell his grandpa directly.

 _For pity's sake, you think he hasn't been watching the whole time!?_ Baba's exasperated screech interrupted any contemplation from Goku. _You obnoxious little turnip!_

 _Hi, Baba!_ Goku chirped back, oblivious to her mood. _Can I talk to him anyway? I'm kinda sick of people telling me stuff._

Somehow that annoyed her more, though Goku didn't understand why.

The voice of his grandpa chortling at the old witch's rage took his mind off of it anyway. _Of course I'm not mad at you, my boy!_

 _I know, but…_ He wanted to be _sure_ of it, sure that Grandpa Gohan _knew_ he was going to make up for his mistakes.

_Come now, I **know** you will, Goku, you're a good boy._

Gohan's smiling face was in his mind's eye as they spoke, it was comforting to see and hear his grandpa even in these brief moments, he missed him _dearly._

_I don't know what to make of that brother of yours yet, but…I met a sweet little lady in the afterlife who says Raditz only **acts** tough._

Little lady? Did he—?

_Oh yes, she's a pretty one, too, your mother._

_My…mom is up there with you?_ Goku wondered how it was possible, in that case where did Bardock end up? If…Mom was good enough to go to Heaven, what about…Dad? More importantly— _can you…tell her I'm sorry that I forgot?_

Gohan chuckled, _Oh, Goku! She's not upset! She's proud of you, and she's proud you have people you care about and a planet to protect!_

Gine would, wouldn't she? A Saiyan with a kind and gentle heart. What did Bardock think, then? That man who did bad things but believed in a better future and wanted to _save_ for once instead of _end_ …

He shook himself out of the thoughts, wiped his tears away, it wouldn't do any good to dwell—he _needed_ to, he _would_ face against this next battle with all of his strength. Goku _was_ excited to face a new stronger opponent yet reminded himself it wasn't just for the thrill of the fight, he needed to stop a _really_ bad guy.

"Okay. I'm gonna start training with Raditz!" Goku announced, thumping his fist to his chest. Surely Raditz would want to train right away, of course, wasn't that what Saiyans did? "Mosto? When are we gonna go see Kami?" He turned to the Namekian again, only vaguely recalling that he _should_ be saying thanks to him for the help.

"Not today, tomorrow. Some of us need a little more rest."

That was a vague answer. Oh, well! Goku shrugged, stepped forward to go find Raditz until he realized his stomach was growling, then sheepishly sidled away to seek out breakfast from the kitchen.

After breakfast, more training. He couldn't wait to see what Raditz had to teach him!

 

* * *

 

 

Around noon, Broly peeked into Bulma's workshop to tell her that Vegeta had passed out on the gravity room floor.

Passed out was inaccurate to say, though, he eventually clarified that Vegeta had _fallen asleep_.

"Idiot," she sighed, knowing that he had locked himself in there purposefully in order to avoid thinking about, god forbid, feelings _._ "Go tuck him in, then, I don't know why you're telling me," Bulma snapped, waving off the boy.

Broly didn't seem to know why he came to tell her first either, he only meekly nodded and left to do just that. At least Vegeta would be out of her hair for a little bit, she could concentrate on—on—

Bulma felt herself go slack, head rolling back to stare up at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. "Ugh," she voiced her general mood since coming back to Earth. She had been running around too much, working too hard, thinking about too many things that weren't _fun_. She wanted to go get her nails done, go eat some parfaits, go shopping for some new clothes…go drinking with Launch, maybe? Depending on if she was blonde or not.

"Screw it!" she declared, pushing herself up from her desk. "I'm taking a me day!"

Evidently Mosto had predicted this would happen as when she left her workshop to find Launch, he had resumed being around everybody else again—watching Krillin and Goku try to spar with Raditz. He canted his head to her with a smile. "We will be meeting with Kami tomorrow, enjoy your me day," he said, gesturing to where Blonde Launch stood with Yamcha.

"Launch!" Bulma shouted across the yard (though she really didn't need to). "Come on, let's go out into town!" She paused, looking around the rest of her friends. "Hey, Nappa, wanna come with?"

They didn't _need_ protection exactly but having a big intimidating guy along for the ride wouldn't hurt anything. He agreed anyway, stating that he had _wanted_ to explore the town before but Raditz and Tyber were being downers.

"Aw hell yeah!" Launch cheered already running through the battle zone to meet with her, paying no heed to Raditz grasping the two boys by the heads to keep them from accidentally lashing out and hitting her. "Let's go fuck shit up! Leave a trail-a broken hearts! Get wasted!"

"I like the sound of that," Nappa laughed. "The fucking shit up and getting wasted part especially, how much liquor can you two hold anyways?"

"Bulma! You gotta spar with me when ya come back!" Goku called from his position of defending.

"Yeah, sure," Bulma responded, not entirely paying attention to what he was saying to object. "We can go out for drinks _later_ , Launch, I've still got some projects I want to do and probably wouldn't accomplish drunk."

"Might make some fun things drunk, tho'," Launch grinned.

 

* * *

 

 

When Vegeta woke up, he noticed somehow he had been moved to his bed and figured that it must have been Broly's meddling.

Bulma also wasn't present on the compound, which was less important to attend to than his growling stomach. He pushed himself to clean up and change into something a little more decent than his training shorts to venture down to the kitchen. Kakarot was there chattering away at the table with Tyber's children and a little bald boy he _thought_ might have been named Chestnut. Not that he cared, he only wanted to grab some food and leave.

"Hi!" Kakarot's voice piped up at his back, causing Vegeta's shoulders to stiffen in annoyance.

Great, he had been spotted. He chose not to answer the boy, gathering a plate together to heat up.

"Are you Vegeta?" the persistent boy continued, coming around to his side to stare up at him. "You seem strong! Wanna spar?"

"I'm _eating_ ," he tersely responded, using all the self-control he had to not just slam the microwave door shut and break the thing.

"Kakarot, leave Vegeta alone!" he heard Raditz call from the next room. _Finally_ , the idiot was being helpful.

"Oh, sorry, I get grouchy too when I haven't eaten," Kakarot said, nodding like he could _really_ understand how an elite thought or felt.

How annoying. He would have to take his meal to his room rather than suffer anymore attempts at conversation from the underdeveloped headcase and the incessant chattering of brats. As he left the kitchen (again ignoring Kakarot calling that they should definitely train together sometime), Vegeta's attention was caught by Tyber purposefully striding in the opposite direction—out of the living area and headed to the front of the compound. "Where are you going?" he commanded, causing the other Saiyan to freeze on the spot.

He said nothing in response, only looked over his shoulder at him and gestured with his free hand not holding his communicator. A sign whatever he was doing was official business and not to be interrupted. His silence was bothersome, blatant disrespect to a prince, Vegeta stepped up to him and snatched away his communicator.

"Don't!" Tyber fumbled to try and get back the device.

 _"Don't?"_ said the voice on the other end, a cold and malicious voice that would have induced a shiver in anyone besides Vegeta (who only truly feared Frieza). _"Do you have company, Officer?"_

Vegeta recognized the voice, his eyes narrowed remembering the last time he had heard that nasty cadence, cooing nonsense about being excited at Bulma and sending her flying into a rage. "In a manner of speaking," he spoke into the communicator. "Prince Vegeta to you."

Turles—as that was who it was—snickered, _"What a surprise! Little Prince Vegeta himself!"_

If it was a dig at his height or his age, Vegeta ignored it as he usually did when people made commentary like that. "And just where the hell do you get off directly contacting a Patroller when you're being _hunted_ by them? Are you that much of a fool?"

 _"What, I can't just have a chat with a fellow Saiyan?"_ Turles replied, unperturbed. _"He won't let me contact the cute little female that challenged me anyway and I'm bored, why don't you leave the adults alone so we can talk?"_

Again, he ignored the dig at his age, tail involuntarily bristling at the mention of a "cute little female." It didn't take a genius to figure out whom he was referring to; and Vegeta was trapped between the feeling of hauling off to find Bulma right away to quiet territorial thoughts and threatening the felonious Saiyan to back off. Showing his cards so openly was just as foolish as what he was accusing Turles of, however, so he quelled his anger and said with a practiced calm: "Do you _really_ find conversation with a sentimental do-gooder _that_ entertaining? You're wasting your time, he's not going to consider whatever ideas you have."

Tyber raised his eyebrows at Vegeta, perceptibly surprised both at the show of rage along with his astute calculation of Turles. Turles didn't seem to have much in the way of motivation besides what most amused him or brought him pleasure, he couldn't be appeased with morals or bargaining, he didn't care enough about _anything_ for that. It was an attitude Vegeta was familiar with, there were plenty like him in Frieza's army, all hedonism and no honor or pride.

 _"Is that a request to meet up, little Prince?"_ Now he sounded interested, fine then, Vegeta could play this game for a little while just to see the full extent of what Turles was about. Somehow, this idiot was enough to scare his men and frighten everyone whoever encountered him into silence. Somehow now he had enough intel on the Patrollers to know individual members, to contact and taunt them.

And he had crossed into Vegeta's territory, which was always a fatal mistake.

"Perhaps," he turned his eyes to Tyber. "But we name the time and place."

 _We?_ Tyber mouthed at him, to which Vegeta only smirked.

_"Well, well, won't this be a treat?"_

_Yeah. A treat. Whatever._ Vegeta ended the call after setting up the meeting, turning to Tyber with an irritated look. "Were you intending to go see him by _yourself_?"

"He's got surveillance on us," he replied, snapping the communicator back from him and turning away. "I don't know _how_ he accomplished it, I was _going_ to ask Nappa to come with me so we could properly assess what he knows and what he's up to but, uh…he's gone into town with Bulma and Launch."

"Of _course_ he has," Vegeta grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Oh, well!" He clapped Tyber on the shoulder, much to the officer's visible alarm. "We can take this opportunity to become real _comrades_ , can't we?"

Tyber's look of disgust was worth the hassle of saying something as ridiculous as that, though he was further bothered he would have to reheat his food as well as think about the implications of _surveillance_.

At least he had something else to concentrate on for the moment.

 

* * *

 

 

"Actually," Nappa had said when they stopped to rest in the park. "I've been meaning to talk to you two about something."

Bulma and Launch looked at the man sitting between them on the bench. It was an honest miracle that he even fit, but they weren't going to acknowledge that before they listened to what he had to say.

"Look, girls, I don't know what exactly you're expectin' from Raditz and Vegeta," he began, looking between the two of them seriously. It must have been something he was thinking about for a while, though Bulma was slightly mortified that he even _noticed_ such a thing and would have rather he just teased them about naughty things like usual. "But Saiyans weren't raised to show fondness openly. Why else do ya think we relied on psychic communication in the past? It was easier to just share your thoughts with each other and not show your weakness to uninvolved parties."

Well…he had a point. And it made a lot of sense. But "not raised" sounded more like "not _allowed_ " to Bulma, and the way the men acted showed they experienced so-called weakness much more strongly than they wanted to admit. Maybe they were abnormalities among other Saiyans.

"Right now," Bulma said sternly. "All I really care about is Vegeta not causing trouble. He only just stopped insisting that he's going to kill me _last year_."

It wasn't _truly_ all she cared about, but it wasn't Nappa's business (no matter how much he insisted on _making_ it so), especially not when she had just _barely_ worked that she felt special with Vegeta. She didn't want to share it with anyone else.

Nappa's attention eventually was caught by construction work going on somewhere else and he left the women to mull over what was said.

"I like Raditz a lot, Bulma," Launch admitted after a long silence. "I'm comfortable with 'im, I never figured a guy like him would be my type but he makes me feel special, and I like when he's happy too."

In that case, if they were two regular young women, Bulma would encourage her to pursue a more serious relationship with Raditz. Unfortunately, as of a couple of years ago, they were no longer regular young women and _nothing_ about Raditz was regular at all. "And I want you to be happy, Launch, and if it's Raditz that does it…but…it's like, we _can't_ concentrate on stuff like this right now, right? I mean, god, now we've got a so-called demon king to worry about attacking Earth," Bulma finished in a quiet tone, watching children running back and forth laughing and screaming in the park. God, it was so selfish of her to refuse to engage Launch about something like this, she _should_ have been honest about what was happening but she wanted to keep her business _private_. At _least_ she should have been giving Launch advice instead of saying they couldn't think about it right then—of course they could! Multitasking was a thing! But saying _aloud_ how special something was made her uncomfortable in ways she had never felt before and disliked.

"Y'know, B," she said, squaring her shoulders and peering at Bulma. "We've been through some shit, right? We deserve t'be happy, right? Even with all this crap about demons going on. Ever since I ran away from the shithole I grew up in, I've been me for me, y'know? The idea of carin' about how other people feel wouldn't-a come up if Goku and Krillin didn't come along. I'm still gonna do what makes me happy 'cause it makes me happy." Launch reached out, taking her hand. "Bulma Briefs, you gotta do what makes _you_ happy, too, even while savin' the world. Just 'cause you're going all heroic on us doesn't mean you gotta be 100 percent."

 _I **am** happy right now _ her mind said while her mouth responded: "…Yeah." She thought she was done with mature and introspective conversations, but apparently not. She really didn't think of herself as very heroic either, Bulma Briefs was _not_ a hero in a traditional sense whatsoever. "Hey, Launch, Yamcha mentioned you were having trouble channeling ki?"

Changing the subject was easier than mature introspection. Launch demonstrated to her how she could _feel_ the ki just under the surface of her skin as she held out her hands to Bulma but couldn't get anything to form. To Bulma's scientific mind, analyzing such a thing was an interesting prospect, she reached out her senses to pinpoint onto Launch's ki. It was _there_ , certainly, it only seemed that Launch needed one extra push.

"You know, have you thought that you might need to channel your ki _through_ something?" Bulma suggested. "Like gloves? I've got ki-enhancing armbands I worked on, I could modify your gloves the same way."

"Really?!" Launch gushed, looking excited. "Yes! Holy crap, yes! Yams has been talkin' about how ki can be used and that signatures are different for everyone, I'm just _dyin'_ to find out what mine can do!"

When Nappa came back to them, they had already gotten their nails done and had bought ice cream sodas while chatting about theoretical properties of ki and Bulma's inventions to enhance them. Any talk of trying to be happy amid a chaotic and demanding world was swept under the rug for now and would remain there for the time being.

"I missed Earth _so much_ ," Bulma groaned, rolling her head back to properly soak in the rays of the sun under the brilliantly _blue_ sky.

"I did, too, Bulma," Launch concurred, eyes watching Nappa shrewdly. "Hey, old man, whaddya so happy about?"

"I got a job," Nappa announced with the same air as noting the color of the sky Bulma was currently admiring.

She choked on her soda, coughing violently while her friend patted her back. "You _what_?" Bulma wheezed, staring wide-eyed at the behemoth.

"They were wreckin' buildings over there," the Saiyan clarified nonchalantly. "I said they weren't doin' it efficiently enough and showed 'em how I do it, they liked it when I wrecked shit, so they gave me a job."

"Cripes, _demolition_ for our boys, why didn't _we_ think of that?" Launch breathed with awe. "Yo, that's basically what they're doin' already, right?"

"Launch, they can't get _jobs_!" Bulma shrieked, jumping to her feet. "They're not supposed to _stay here_!"

"Eh, don't worry," Nappa shrugged, "S'just a temp job anyhow. But I figure if humans are gonna acknowledge my superiority in wreckin' shit, I might as well humor 'em."

Not for the first or last time, Bulma groaned and cursed to herself about _fucking Saiyans._ Great Kami in Heaven, how she _loathed_ Saiyans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "But Mozart wasn't it stated in canon that every species has different afterlives?"
> 
> Yeah like 30 years after the fact. Fuck it! For the purpose of this AU, all species of universe 7 share an afterlife! You can take away the Dabura being besties with Bulma, Chi-Chi, and Videl filler from my dead as HFIL hands.
> 
> I started another part of the series to accumulate all the extra scenes that I get ideas for but can't find a way to fit into the actual story/regard as filler, it's [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17891159) (I will also take suggestions on what to write.) Also I'm still posting crap on my [twitter](https://twitter.com/MozartEffectAo3) and [tumblr](https://mozarteffect.tumblr.com/) in case you wanted to say hi


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